


Right Kind of Love

by pancake_surprise



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ADHD, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming of Age, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Miya Four, Mutual Pining, Post-Time Skip, Sakusa attends uni in Osaka, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27902686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancake_surprise/pseuds/pancake_surprise
Summary: It takes Suna and Osamu four kisses to get one right.Meanwhile, it takes Sakusa and Atsumu four dates to get it right.Five years in the lives of Osamu, Atsumu, Suna, and Sakusa.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 96
Kudos: 223
Collections: SunaOsa





	1. love that lets go

**Author's Note:**

> Rating may change later.
> 
> [Playlist for Right Kind of Love ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0zTWxgzWHvoF44qseEgMFn&si=3269a96d39664a17)

Osamu is exhausted. For all the hype, graduation leaves Osamu feeling remarkably the same. They handed him a fancy piece of paper, so what? By the time the ceremony is over, everyone is either in tears or on the brink of crying, eyes glassy. Even Atsumu and Suna were tearing up near the end. Atsumu had elbowed him in the gut when he caught him wiping away a tear. He wasn’t going to make fun of him for it or anything, he didn’t even acknowledge it but Osamu grit his teeth and silently vowed he would get back at him later, when they weren’t in a crowded auditorium. 

Before today, Osamu hadn’t given graduation much thought. He thought plenty about what came  _ after  _ high school and graduation, about whether he would continue to play volleyball or leave it behind in high school. And when he decided his future lay off the court, he thought about what he would do instead. Ideally, a short cooking course, hopefully a part time job in a restaurant. A few classes in business and finance. All followed up with opening his own onigiri shop as soon as possible. At least that’s the plan. 

Osamu put so much thought into what came after graduation that he forgot that before he could do all of that, he would first have to endure a long, tortuous ceremony all for a measly scrap of paper. But that isn’t the worst of his transgressions. More importantly, he forgot to consider the teary goodbyes. The tears threatening to fall from his friend's eyes leave him wondering though, is it strange to feel so little while everyone else is literally overflowing with emotion? Is it a big deal that he didn’t think graduation is a big deal? 

He leaves the building trailing behind Atsumu, Suna, Kosaku, and Gin but somewhere between the door and the front gate he loses them in the mess of fellow teary-eyed graduates. He waits, hoping in vain that they will catch up to him quickly but no luck.

Huddled nearby is a group of girls from the basketball team. Their arms are linked together and the girl in the center looks about one more word away from breaking down into her own fit of tears. Her eyes pinch shut as her mouth twists into a grimace. Osamu watches as the girls trip over themselves trying to comfort her but it’s all for nothing, the tears escape anyway, sliding down her cheek before dropping to the concrete below. 

Osamu eases around the group and slips out of the gate. He catches a “we’ll video chat all the time! It will be fine!” followed by a “we’ll still be friends!” But her voice wavers like she’s not sure she believes what she's saying. She trails off, words replaced with a broken sob. 

He walks faster. 

Where the hell is Atsumu? Or Suna for that matter. Gin? Kosaku? He rolls up onto the balls of his feet, gaze moving across the ever changing mass of students. It’s fruitless. He sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets, and keeps walking until all he can hear is the dull murmur of his fellow former students. 

He stops under a tree to pull his phone out from his pocket then hits the power button. 

Sitting for so long left his neck achy and tired. The further he walks, the harder it is to ignore the ache settling deep into his muscles. He’s 18 not 40, his body has no right giving out on him right now. He runs a hand along the back of his neck, tilting his head side to side, attempting to release some of the tension pinching his neck and shoulders. Sitting still hurts more than volleyball practice. 

Five missed calls from Atsumu. One each from Gin and Kosaku. Two texts from Suna. 

**Lucky.**

**You could have at least taken me with you.**

He types a reply, letting Suna know where he is. Not ten seconds pass before his phone lights up with  **lame.** Then,  **on our way.** He smiles then pockets his phone, leans against the tree, and waits. 

“Samu, get the door.” 

“Why do I have to get the door? It’s yer party!” 

“Well, we share a bedroom so that makes it yer party too by default.” 

“Ugh.” 

“Careful, Samu, almost sounds like ya don’t want to hang out with Gin and Kosaku and wouldn’t that be rude?” 

Someone knocks on the door again.

“Alright, I’m comin’!” Osamu swings open the front door to find-

“Suna?” 

“Yes?” 

“Uh-”

“Move outta the way and let the man through!” Atsumu stuffs another handful of chips into his mouth.

“Who asked ya!” 

Suna smirks. “Surprised to see me?” 

“What? No-”

“Huh,” Suna pushes past him like he owns the place. “The look on your face could have fooled me.” 

Osamu groans. “Yer worse than Tsumu. And in my defense, he told me ya couldn’t come to his ‘very important last sleepover of highschool party, former third years only’ 

“Wow, no need to be rude. I can go back home. It’s no sweat off my back.” 

“No-I mean-ya can’t leave me here to fend for myself.” 

“Alright, since you’re so desperate.” 

“Stop flirting and go put Suna’s stuff in our bedroom, geez!” Atsumu grabs the duffle bag slung over Suna’s shoulder. “On second thought, I’ll take Suna’s stuff. We wouldn’t want to leave you two kids alone for too long, now would we?” 

Osamu aims a kick to the back of Atsumu’s knee, retaliation for now  _ and _ for elbowing him in the gut during graduation but Atsumu evades easily. 

“Gonna have to try harder than that,” Atsumu says, walking around the corner and out of sight. 

Suna pats him on the shoulder, “you’ll get him next time.” 

“Ah shut up, Suna.” 

“Make me-” 

“That’s enough!”   
“Yeah, can we go a single night without watchin’ you two flirt, it’s gross.” Gin and Kosaku stand in the doorway, sleeping bags tucked under their arms. 

“Just get a room already,” Kosaku says. 

“Whatever,” Suna and Osamu say at the same time. 

It’s always like this. Suna and Osamu can’t so much as  _ look  _ at each other without Atsumu, Gin, Kosaku, or someone else making a smart-ass comment about it. Osamu and Suna play dumb and Osamu likes to think they’ve gotten pretty good at it but he knows it’s a fool's errand. He hates to admit it but Atsumu, and Gin and Kosaku, are smarter than they give them credit for and can see right through Osamu and Suna’s bullshit. 

But, still, they play dumb because Osamu has run the numbers. One then twice. Double checked his work both times. Then again. And again. And again. But the math never works out. Either his calculator is broken or the equation itself is flawed and unsolvable. He’s leaning toward the latter. 

(Passion times) X (Osamu’s dreams) + (Suna’s goals) X (his talent) over (age) X (distance) X (the unknown) does not = a healthy, functional relationship. Osamu can’t ask Suna on a date and neither can Suna ask him because once they cross that line, the timer starts and sooner or later their time will run out. That’s a future they would both rather avoid. 

For now, they subtly flirt, hold eye contact for just a few seconds too long, fingers brush against fingers as they walk home from school. Or rather, _ they used to.  _ There will be no more walks home for school to flirt or brush hands and that's exactly why they  _ will not  _ do anything about it. 

Atsumu insists they have ‘one last sleepover.’ He says it with so much drama it sounds more like they’re heading off to war then graduating high school. He works himself up into a frenzy about it, forgetting that they have two weeks until Gin and Kosaku move into their university dorms. Even then, Suna, Osamu, and Atsumu will still be in Hyogo, same as always. For a little longer anyway. They have plenty of time for ‘one last sleepover.’ 

The idea of one last sleepover is stupid anyway. As if the five of them will never be in the same room together again. They’re moving forward but that doesn’t mean they can’t turn around every once in a while.

Osamu is vaguely aware of someone calling his name but he’s too tired to care. 

“Samu. Hello? Samu!” A loud clap too close to his face. “Osamu!” 

“What?” He snaps.

“Stop brooding and come hang out. Yer bringing the whole room down.” 

“I’m not brooding. I’m just thinkin’.” 

“Ooh,” Suna says, drawing out the sound. “Be careful then. Wouldn’t want you to strain anything.” 

Gin and Kosaku snicker. Bastards.

“I hate all of ya.”

“That ain’t true,” Gin says.

“If ya did you’d be holed up in yer room, not layin’ on the living room floor with the rest of us,” Kosaku says. 

“Nah, ya got it all wrong. I’m only here for the snacks.” He shoves a handful of chips into his mouth. 

“You’re a worse liar than Atsumu,” Suna says. 

“Hey!” Atsumu shoves Suna by the shower. Suna leaves to the side, snapping right back into place when Atsumu pulls back. “I’m a great liar.” 

“Sure buddy,” Gin pats him on the shoulder and smiles. 

“Whatever gets ya through the day,” Kosaku says. 

Osamu laughs and shoves another handful of chips in his mouth. 

Atsumu punches Gin in the arm. Gin punches back and somewhere between the fourth and fifth punch it turns into a full out brawl on the living room floor. 

“You want to bet on who will win?” Suna has his phone out filming. 

“Gin,” Kosaku says. 

Osamu sighs. “Guess that means I gotta bet on Atsumu then.” 

It ends when Gin pins Atsumu to the floor by sitting on his back. 

“Nice!” Kosaku high-fives Gin after he rolls off of Atsumu. 

Atsumu struggles to his feet. “Yeah, whatever.” 

“Don’t be a sore loser. Gin beat yer ass fair and square and Suna has the video to prove it.” 

“One of these days I’m gonna hide yer phone so well yer never gonna find it and what will ya do then?” 

Suna shrugs. “Use Osamu’s, of course.”   
  


They took over the living room. Gin and Atsumu are sprawled across the floor, long limbs stretched out in every direction like overgrown starfish.

“I’m bored,” Atsumu says. 

“Then go to bed, dumbass,” Osamu says. 

“It’s too early for bed!” 

“It’s 10:30, that’s a perfectly acceptable time to go to bed.” 

Suna snorts. “You’re an old man.” 

“Suna’s right,” says Atsumu. “Yer no fun. Wait! Let’s play a game! Truth or dare!” 

“How old are we?” Osamu rips off another piece of chocolate and shoves it in his mouth. “Aren’t we a little old for party games?” 

“Don’t be stupid,” says Atsumu.

“Sorry, Atsumu’s right.”  
“Suna! Ya never agree with me!”

“Never have I ever and truth or dare are my biggest source of blackmail on the three of you.” 

Atsumu blinks. “Good enough for me, I guess.” 

It’s a trap if he’s ever seen one. Atsumu isn’t nearly as slick as he thinks he is. But it’s almost midnight and he’s too tired to care about putting up much more of a fight. He’ll play one round then fall asleep on Suna’s shoulder. 

“And don’t even think about fallin’ asleep on us. Yer not gettin’ out of this one.” 

“Alright Gin, what’ll it be, truth or dare?”   
Gin doesn’t hesitate. “Dare.”

“An excellent choice. And I have just the dare- prank call Aran.” 

“What? No way!”

“You can’t back out now, a dare is a dare,” Kosaku says.

“Kosaku’s right, now put on yer big boy pants and call Aran.

Gin looks at Osamu, if he thinks Osamu will be the voice of reason here, he’s wrong.”Ya want me to dial for ya?” Osamu says. 

“Fine, I hate all of you.”

Kosaku hums. “What do you think has ruined more friendships, Monopoly, or truth-or-dare?”

“Monopoly,” Suna says without hesitation. “Capitalist scum.” 

Osamu snorts.

“Truth or dare is innocent fun that sometimes ends in a fistfight. Monopoly exposes the darkest side in all of us.” 

Atsumu blinks. “Thank ya for that analysis, Suna. Now I believe Gin has a phone call to make.” 

“What am I supposed to say?” 

“Go old school,” Osamu says. “Is your refrigerator running?”

Gin wrinkles his nose but hits the call button anyway. The phone rings. And rings. And rings.

“The person you are trying to reach hasn’t set up their voicemail box yet. Goodbye.” 

Atsumu sighs. “Well, that was lame.” 

“Did ya seriously expect him to answer? It’s the middle of the night,” Osamu says, laughing.

“Huh, didn’t think about that.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” 

“Shut up, I didn’t ask you, Samu. Gin, you’re up.” 

“Osamu? Gin says.

“Dare, I’m not stupid.” 

“That’s a load of shit.”

“Get to the question.”

Gin taps a finger on his chin and hums.

“Sometime in this century would be great.”  
“Don’t get yer panties in a twist, I have a real good dare for ya.” 

Gin, Kosaku, and Atsumu all share a glance. They’re not slick.

“Osamu, I dare ya to tell us if ya have anyone yer thinking about confessing to?” 

“That’s the best ya got? That’s ain’t a dare, that’s a truth dressed up dare’s clothing.” 

Gin’s grin doesn’t falter. “Well, do ya?” 

“Yes.”

Gin, Atsumu, and Kosaku choke. Dummies. 

“What’d ya expect me to say?” Osamu smirks. 

A camera shutter goes off. “You guys should see your faces.” Suna laughs. 

“Shut up, Suna,” Atsumu says.

“Wait,” says Gin. “Ya gotta tell us who it is.” 

Osamu mimes zipping his lips shut. “Nuh-uh, ya already asked for yer truth and got it. I’m not obligated to answer any more questions which leads me to, Kosaku, truth or dare?” 

“Dare.” 

“Great, I dare ya to let me send a text to anyone I want from yer phone.” 

“What? No.”   
“Sorry, dare‘s a dare. Hand it over.” 

Kosaku scooches closer to Osamu, trying to peek over his shoulder at the phone in his hand. “What are you going to send?” 

Suna crowds in too. “More importantly, who are you going to send it to?” 

Osamu grins and holds the phone closer to his body, effectively hiding the screen from prying eyes. “Dontcha worry about that.” 

Osamu runs through Kosaku’s contacts until he finds Omimi. He types the message, hits send, and hands the phone back. 

Atsumu and Gin crowd in on either side of Kosaku. 

“What did he send?” 

Kosaku frowns. “You have to be kidding me.”

“Why dontcha share it with the class? 

“The FitnessGram™ Pacer Test is a multistage aerobic capacity test that progressively gets more difficult as it continues. The 20 meter pacer test will begin in 30 seconds. Line up at the start. The running speed starts slowly but gets faster each minute after you hear this signal. [beep] A single lap should be completed each time you hear this sound. [ding] Remember to run in a straight line, and run as long as possible. The second time you fail to complete a lap before the sound, your test is over. The test will begin on the word start. On your mark, get ready, start.”

Kosaku shoves his phone back into his bag with a groan. “I’m erasing this from my memory, Suna, truth or dare?” 

“Dare. Do your worst boys.” 

Kosaku doesn’t hesitate. “I dare ya to go figure yer shit out with Osamu.”

Suna’s expression, to his credit, doesn’t falter even for a second. 

“Go on,” Atsumu shoves Osamu toward Suna. “Ya heard the man.” 

A silent conversation passes between Suna and Osamu. They shrug then stand.  Osamu flips them all the bird and they shuffle out of the room stopping briefly to tug on their shoes and a warm coat before leaving Atsumu, Gin, and Kosaku behind. As he shuts the door behind him he catches a muffled “shit, that was easier than I thought it was going to be.” 

The cold air wakes Osamu up immediately. Gravel crunches under their sneakers, the sound replaced by dull thuds as they reach the road. It’s a clear night. Their path is illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. He looks to the sky craning his neck to take in the endless sky and hundreds of stars littered across the inky sky. 

This is a moment he’s thought about a lot, more than graduation or volleyball or what he’s going to do now that high school is over. This moment is one he’s been thinking about for as long as he’s known Suna Rintarou. He doesn’t have to ask Suna to know he’s thought about it too, probably just as much as Osamu has. 

They’ve had an unspoken agreement not to bring up the moment, to put it off for as long as possible. If they don’t acknowledge it, don’t say it out loud then they don’t have to do anything about it. And if they don’t do anything about it then no one’s heart gets broken. It's a self-imposed limbo. It already hurts but at least this way the pain is self inflicted. Osamu would rather eat his own fist than hurt Suna. 

They walk in silence, choosing streets at random to wander down. Their fingers brush. Their elbows clash. Their shoulders bump. Each point of contact is as fleeting as the one before but that doesn’t stop it from sending a shiver down his neck every time. 

“Cold?” Suna asks without looking at him.

“Cold?” 

“You’re shivering.” Their fingers brush. He shivers. It’s not because he’s cold. “That’s the fifth time.” 

Osamu can’t deny it but he lies anyway. “Yeah. Real cold.” 

Suna stops, pulls both of Osamu’s hands into his own and holds them up between them. 

Osamu’s hair sticks up on end as Suna’s warm breath coasts across the backs and then palms of his hands. He shivers.

Suna smiles. “Cold?” 

“No.” 

“Could have fooled me.” 

Osamu tries to snatch his hand back but Suna holds on steadfast. There’s a dull siren going off in the back of his head. But, with one look into Suna’s eyes, it fades until all Osamu can hear is their breaths in the cold night air. 

Suna doesn’t let go of his hand as they continue onward. Their fingers interlock and Osamu can’t stop the small grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

That is a real problem. Holding hands isn’t on the approved list. The list they’ve carefully curated over the past two years as they learned to navigate this weird, unspoken thing between them. 

Approved: lingering gazes, sharing popsicles on hot summer days, fingers brushing as he hands his homework over for Suna to copy or vice versa. 

Unapproved: Anything that can’t be written off as something else, something more innocent. 

A lingering gaze is nothing more than staring off into space. Sharing popsicles is economical, two flavors for the price of one. Brushing fingers is nothing more than an accident. 

Hand holding is dangerous. Hand holding is a gateway drug. A one way road to ever more dangerous things like talking, confessing, to breaking each other’s hearts, and leaving the other to pick up the pieces alone. 

Suna’s hand is warm in his own and somehow warms not only his palm and fingers but his entire body. There’s the warmth spread from his hand and arm into his chest, down his legs, it creeps up his neck until it reaches the tips of his ears. 

It’s dangerous to hold Suna’s hand. 

Osamu knows this.

Suna knows this.

Osamu doesn’t let go. 

They end up at a park, the only people stupid enough to be there so late in the evening. They take a seat in the damp grass, still hand in hand as they lay down, the grass cold against their backs. 

Now that they’re here, stagnant, alone, the silence feels overbearing. “Rin.” 

“Osamu,” Suna says without looking away from the sky. 

“Do you wanna talk about this?” 

Suna takes a deep breath. “I don’t know, do you want to?” 

“Well, let’s get one thing straight, if we do talk about this, it’s not because Gin, Kosaku, or fucking Atsumu dared us to. We don’t have to talk or do anything. It’s just a dare. No one will know either way.” 

“You’re an idiot if you think they won’t know if we talked or not. They’re expecting us to come back holding hands or heartbroken.” Suna bites his lip. “But you’re right, we don’t have to do anything, don’t have to talk. That’s okay, too. I don’t give a shit about what Atsumu, Gin, and Kosaku think.” 

Suna lets out a big breath and rolls onto his side. Osamu mimics the movement until they’re facing each other. They don’t have to talk. They can keep living in this weird limbo. It might even be easier now that they won’t constantly be around each other. No more school. No more volleyball. 

Or would it hurt more not to know? 

“Osamu?” 

“Rin.” He pauses. “I have something to tell ya.” 

“Oh.” Suna squeezes his hand, just for a moment. He’s not sure if it’s for himself or Suna. “I have something to tell you too.” 

“Huh. What a coincidence.” 

Suna hums. “It’s something. 

They’re at the point of no return. They could back out now and nothing would have to change. They could go back to lingering gazes, popsicles in the hot summer sun, and brushing fingers. Or they could until Suna gets recruited, because he will, and he will move, leaving Hyogo, and Osamu, behind. After that, well it’s just a crush right? A three year and counting crush. They’ll get over it. Eventually. 

But this isn’t a decision he can make on his own. They can jump off this ledge or they can stay where they are safe, at least for now. But regardless of which path they take, they have to make the decision together. 

“I have something to tell ya but I won’t say anything if you would rather lay here and look at the sky.” 

It’s an out. An easy out.

“I want to hear it.” There’s no hesitation in Suna’s voice. “I want to hear what you have to say, Osamu. And then I’ll tell you if that’s okay.” 

Another out. Not as easy as the first.

Osamu swallows. His tongue feels too big for his mouth. Lips too dry and chapped to form the sounds and syllables necessary for this conversation. 

“I want to hear it, Rin. I always want t’ hear what you have to say.” He pauses. “I’ll go first unless you want to.” 

“You go.” 

Osamu takes a deep breath. Meanwhile, his stomach churns and his heart races. There’s a small part of him that’s excited to finally,  _ finally  _ tell Suna how he feels. To put it out in the open air and let it just be. To untangle the knot that’s grown tighter and more tangled over the years. But there’s a louder voice in the back of his shouting ‘abort, abort, abort’. Yelling at him to get out while he still can. He ignores it. He jumps.

“I like ya, Sunarin.” It feels good to say it out loud. The shouting in the back of his head dulls to a more tolerable level. 

Suna smiles and the corners of his eyes crinkle. He’s cute when he smiles. 

“That’s a relief. Because I’ve had an embarrassing crush on you since 1st year.” 

“Huh, I think that’s when I started t’ like ya myself.”

“Wow, another coincidence.” 

Osamu smiles. 

“What now?” Suna says. 

“Now’s the hard part.” 

“Right.” 

Osamu can’t decide what would hurt more. Hearing the words from Suna himself or saying the same  _ to  _ Suna. Osamu sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I’ll do it. We’re young.” 

“Too young.” 

“Stupid.” 

“Reckless.” 

“Right, and Rin, I think ya know as well as I do that won’t work.” 

“I do know.” 

“I know ya know.” 

Where Osamu’s voice wavers, Suna picks up the slack. “I’m going to make this easy on us, ready?” 

Osamu nods. He’s not ready.

“I’m not into you now,” Suna lies. “I never was interested in you, ever. Ew.” 

“Rin, that was terrible,” Osamu huffs a laugh. “I’m supposed to believe that lousy, unconvincing speech?” 

Suna laughs and shrugs. “I tried, but yeah, it was a lie.” 

“We could have been great if we we're a little less ambitious. That’s what I think, at least.” 

“Maybe we are in another universe. One where we’re older or where our dreams are more compatible.”

Suna hums. “It’s nice to imagine that in another universe we fit together perfectly.”

“Yeah.” 

They lapse into silence.

“Hey, Suna?” 

“Yeah, Samu?”

“Hear me out-” 

“Okay.” 

“Let me take ya on one date. Our first and our last. We don’t even hafta go anywhere. We’re already here.” 

“I can’t argue with that, can I? Not if we’re already here.” 

“So, Sunarin, will ya go on a date with me?” 

“Yes.” 

Osamu smiles. “That’s a relief.” He squeezes Suna’s hand. “I’ve got a real nice spot picked out.”

“Stargazing. Very romantic.” 

“What are we supposed to do on a first date?” 

Suna shrugs. “Talk? Get to know each other?” 

“We already know each other.” 

“How bold of you to assume you know everything about me.” 

“Alright then, Sunarin, tell me, what’s one thing that I don’t know about you? I’ll trade ya for one thing you don’t know about me.”

“No, you have to ask me.”

“What?” 

“Come on, Osamu, ask me questions. Get to know me.” 

There are a lot of things Osamu doesn’t know about Suna. He doesn’t know what it feels like to run his hands through his hand. Doesn’t know what it’s like to kiss him. He doesn’t know his favorite book or if he even has one. Doesn’t know how he likes his eggs cooked which, now that he thinks about it, he really should. 

“How do ya like yer eggs cooked?” 

“My what?” 

“Yer eggs? That’s somethin’ I don’t know about ya.”

The look Suna gives him is fond enough to hurt. “Hard boiled.” 

Osamu wrinkles his nose. “Boiled? All the ways to eat eggs and you go with hard boiled? That’s it, I’m making eggs in the morning. This is a travesty. My own best friend. Boiled eggs.”

“I had no idea you were so passionate about eggs.” 

“You wound me, Sunarin.” 

They dissolve into a fit of giggles until eventually, silence replaces their laughter. 

“Hey, Samu?”

“Yeah, Rin?” 

“What do you think about kissing on the first date? Faux pas?”

“Are ya askin’ me for a kiss Sunarin?” 

“What gives you that idea?” 

Osamu taps a finger on his chin. “Hmm, just a gut feeling, I guess.” 

Suna shoves him. “Just answer the question.” 

“I guess there is something romantic about a kiss on the first date. But I also think it would depend on the person. How long ya known them, stuff like that. I don’t want to kiss a stranger I just met on a blind date, ya know?” 

“Romantic? What do you know about romance?” 

“Why Suna Rintarou, I’m appalled. I brought ya out here, to this beautiful park in the freezing cold night, an excellent excuse for cuddlin’ I might add, to look at the stars and ya have the audacity to suggest that I’m not romantic? For shame.” 

“Touche.” 

“What about you?” Osamu says. 

“I think I’d kiss you on a first date.” 

A few words shouldn’t be able to knock the breath out of him. He swallows. “Oh.” He pauses. “I think I would kiss ya on the first date too.” 

Suna’s gaze drops to Osamu’s lips and then back up again. Osamu swallows.

“Can I?” Suna’s voice is hardly more than a whisper. If Osamu weren’t looking at him he probably wouldn’t have heard him. 

Osamu should say no. Kissing is definitely not on the approved list. But then so is going on romantic star gazing dates and holding hands. They’ve already broken all the rules. Why not break a few more? Plus Osamu really wants to kiss him and if this is his only chance then he’s going to take it. 

Despite being his idea, Suna looks torn. Torn between wanting Osamu to say yes and begging him to say no. 

Osamu inches closer. 

Suna meets him in the middle, rolling up onto his elbows, face hovering inches above Osamu’s. 

He’s pretty like this. With his hair falling around his face, face flushed from the cold. 

“You’re sure?” 

Osamu’s never been more sure of anything in his life. He wants to crack a joke but the words die on his lips, managing nothing more than a weak nod. Suna leans closer. Osamu’s eyes fall shut. Suna’s breath dances across his lips. He shivers. 

Suna’s lips are cold but so are Osamu’s. It’s chaste and over as fast as it began. 

On their way back home they stop a few blocks away. Any closer and they run the risk of Atsumu, Gin, and Kosaku snooping. 

“Before we get back, let’s make a pact.” 

“I’m listenin’.”

“We went on our first and our last date and I’m not going to lie, knowing that sucks.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” 

“Feel how you feel today. Tomorrow. Be sad. Be angry. Annoyed. Frustrated. Whatever. But then that’s it. No more pity party. No avoiding each other. We’re friends. I’m not wasting the last few months I have in Hyogo avoiding you like the plague and you’d better not either.” 

“Sunarin, ya have yerself a deal.” 

They cover the rest of the walk in silence, hands stuffed into their own pockets. 

Atsumu rips open the door before they even reach the front step. “Well?”

Suna pushes past him into the living room, inserting himself into the space between Gin and Kosaku. Osamu shoulders his way past Atsumu and into their bedroom down the hall. 

“Hello?” Atsumu says. “How did it go?” 

Osamu sighs. “Nothing happened.” 

“Ya can’t lie to me Osamu. Do I need to go crush Suna? I’ll do it. Say the word.”

“No, I think I already crushed Suna enough.” 

“Wait, why are you all pouty then, I thought he broke yer heart. Did ya break his?” 

Osamu nods. 

“I swear Osamu, I’ll kick yer ass. Whaddya mean ya broke Suna’s heart! That’s my best friend, asshole.” 

“Ya don’t need t’ kick anyone’s ass.”

“Yer not makin’ any sense. What the hell happened? You guys were gone for hours.” 

“It’s not going to work out, Tsumu, drop it. We know that. It’s better this way.” 

“How can it be better? Yer miserable! He did break yer heart! I’m gonna kick his ass!” 

“No, we broke each other’s hearts.” 

Osamu won’t ask Suna to wait. He won’t be that cruel or selfish. He’s not possessive enough to ask Suna to wait for him. To wait just a few years, or as long as it takes, until they have their feet under them- until they’ve found their footing in the adult world. They’re only 18 and there is a whole world out there waiting for them.

Osamu loves Suna enough to let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ghosty for putting up with my endless bullshit. 
> 
> Thank you for reading my messy, messy google doc ghosty and hannah.
> 
> Thank you togaki for all the words of wisdom and kindess. I appreciate it so much. 
> 
> And thank you for the thinly veiled threats when requested, ghosty, robin, hannah, and togaki.
> 
> pancakesurprisd on [twitter](https://twitter.com/pancakesurprisd)


	2. hoedown throwdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suna and Atsumu's professional team tryout road trip special (featuring Sakusa Kiyoomi).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I can find(?) we don't know where Sakusa attends college so for the sake of this story we're going with Osaka

After seeing the look of utter defeat on Osamu’s face and Suna’s matching expression, Atsumu _almost_ feels guilty for his role in whatever happened between Osamu and Suna on graduation night. Suna left the party at the first sight of the rising sun, shoulders heavy and eyes sad. Osamu retreated to their room and didn’t come out for a full day further confirming his theory that Osamu has a stash of food hidden somewhere in their bedroom. There’s no way in hell Osamu could go a whole day without eating, right?

But then another day passed and Suna was back, hanging out at their house like nothing had happened and laughing over some dumb video Osamu was showing him. It’s suspicious as all fuck and Atsumu vowed then to figure out exactly what happened that night. 

But getting anything out of Osamu and Suna is like cracking an unsolvable cipher. They're keeping _that_ conversation under lock and key. Osamu hasn’t said more than five words about it since graduation night and Atsumu spends most of spring and summer trying to pry any tiny detail out of either of them with no success. 

When it’s clear neither Osamu nor Suna will give up any information of their own accord, Atsumu switches methods opting to observe his best friend and brother. Without Gin and Kosaku around to round out their group and act as a buffer, it’s harder for Osamu and Suna to hide. By the time fall begins, Atsumu has reached several conclusions. 

First and foremost: Osamu and Suna are dumbasses. Nothing groundbreaking there. 

Second: they are both pining dumbasses even if they’ve gotten marginally better at pretending they aren’t.

Third: He’s going to do something about it if it kills him.

Planning the trip was the most complicated endeavor of Atsumu’s young life. The time had finally come. Tryouts for V.1 League teams. 

It makes sense that he and Suna decide to leap into the fray together electing to travel and stay together. They act like it’s all for convenience but deep down it’s a bit like having a comfort blanket or a childhood stuffed animal close by. It's safe and assuring. 

Tryouts are exhilarating, igniting a renewed vigor into Atsumu. Practicing and training on his own or with Suna and Osamu plus whoever else he can rouse up is fun but this is on another level. They push him to limits that no practice rush can’t quit match nationals. 

Suna too ramps up, hungry like Atsumu has never seen him before. They both pour their heart, body, and soul into each set, spike, and block. 

Tryouts for the Adlers were easy. And by easy, they were a terror but they at least had a week to recover and head home before the real test began. 

The next round, known fondly by Suna and Atsumu as hell week, is a nonstop whirlwind of a week that has them crisscrossing the country for EJP Raijin, MSBY Black Jackals, and Tachibana Red Falcons. 

Trying out for the Red Falcons is fun. Tough but fun. They split into teams of 3 and, to Atsumu’s delight, it’s not just tryouts, it's a little Inarizaki reunion too. 

For the first time in over a year, he’s on the same side of the net as Suna _and_ Aran. It would be better if Osamu is there too but that’s a lost cause and although he’ll never admit it out loud, he’s happy Osamu found something that makes him as happy as volleyball makes Atsumu. 

They take the train the following day to Shizuoka City to try out for EJP Raijin. 

“I don’t like it here,” Atsumu says while they wait for the train. “Let’s get out of this lame city. I want to get as far away from Shizuoka and EJP Raisin as fast as I can.” 

“ _Raijin._ And you just don’t like it because EJP was interested in me but not you,” Suna says without looking up from his phone. 

Atsumu scoffs. “That’s not true!” 

“Sureee, whatever gets you through the day, Atsumu.” 

“The only team that really matters is MSBY, anyway. ‘S good thing we’re headin’ there next.” The MSBY Black Jackals are Atsumu’s top choice. They’re close to home and have a great lineup. It's a win-win.

“I’m not trying out for MSBY, I’ve told you 15 times now. I'm just going to make sure you don't do anything stupid." 

“I hear ya Sunarin, ya don’t want to try out for the Jackals but until ya give me a good reason why, I’m not gonna shut up about it,” Atsumu says as they board the train. 

“It’s a good thing I brought my headphones because you’re going to be talking for the next 48 hours then. Just give it up.” 

Atsumu throws his hands up in defeat with all the grace of a dying bird. 

“Theatrics will get you nowhere," Suna says. 

“I hear ya loud and clear, Suna. It’s a good thing I speak stubborn asshole or else I’d be shit out of luck without an interpreter." 

Suna ignores him in favor of playing Flappy Bird on his phone. 

“This ain’t over, Sunarin.” 

“Ok,” Suna deadpans. He taps the screen three times in quick succession narrowly navigating the bird between two green pipes. 

Atsumu groans and slumps in his seat. He lasts 3 minutes before he’s back at it, poking and prodding Suna for all it’s worth. “Alright Suna, I said I heard ya but I still don’t get _why._ Why don’t ya want to try out for the Black Jackals? _”_

Suna taps too fast, the little green bird flies too high, hitting a pipe and crashing to the ground. Game over.

“Why do you care so much?” Suna exits the game and pockets his phone. 

“Am I not allowed to care about my friends?” 

Suna shrugs and doesn’t say anything. 

How can he be so nonchalant about this? Atsumu snaps. “Are ya that excited to leave Hyogo? I didn’t realize ya hated it so much here.” 

“Don’t put words into my mouth, Atsumu. I never said anything close to that. What’s so wrong with wanting to explore the world a bit? There’s more to see than Osaka.” 

“Oh right, my mistake, because it’s really Samu that yer running away from.” 

Suna’s head snaps around. He glares at Atsumu, eyes filled with a fire Atsumu has never seen before. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” 

He’s entering dangerous territory. Atsumu plows ahead. “Just tell me Sunarin, what the hell are ya runnin’ from if not from Samu?” 

“I’m not running from anything other than your annoying, nosey ass.” 

“Yer just as bad as Samu, fucker won’t tell me anything.” 

“Then maybe you should take the hint and keep your nose out of _our_ business.” 

“I don’t know what kinda backward conclusions you guys came to graduation night but I bet ya anything yer wrong.” 

“Are you some kind of expert on relationships now? Tell me how many relationships have you been in?” 

The answer is none.

“You can’t hurt me with that, you know it, so don’t bother. More importantly, ha! You were talking about a relationship that night. I knew it!

“What did ya guys talk about? Who am I kidding, ya probably both got so worked up and backed yourselves into a corner in yer heads with all this bullshit overthinking yer both so good at. Have ya ever tried just doing something without thinking about it for 3 years beforehand?” 

Suna’s expressionless facade crumbles for a fleeting moment, surprise peaking through.

“Oh my god, I was kidding. Have ya really been thinking about this for three years? Yer more hopeless than I thought.” 

“Shut up, Atsumu.” 

They have the evening to kill when they arrive in Osaka. They drop their duffle bags off in their room then head out to find an after dinner coffee at a coffee shop a few blocks from the hotel. 

“So I know we just talked about this but remind me again, why don’t ya want to try out for the Jackals?” 

“Atsumu, I swear to god, I will dump this coffee on your head and storm out of this coffee shop with so much dramatic flair you’ll never be able to top it.” 

“It’s a simple question, Sunarin.”

Suna doesn’t dump the coffee, he needs the caffeine to get through the day but he does take care to scrape the leg of the chair across the floor for maximum flair before exiting the shop in a huff, leaving Atsumu behind to finish his white chocolate mocha on his own.

He isn’t alone for long. Not a minute after Suna stormed out of the cafe none other than Sakusa Kiyoomi slinks in, hands shoved in his pockets and a mask pulled up over his face.

“Well, would ya look what the cat dragged in.” 

“Miya.” 

“It’s nice to see ya too, Omi-kun. Been a long time!” 

“Stop calling me that. I saw you this year.” 

“That was 10 months ago!”

Sakusa shrugs and tugs the mask down until it rests on his chin. “What the hell happened to you?” 

“Has anyone ever told ya yer a terrible conversationalist?” 

Sakusa’s mouth pinches into a thin line and for a brief moment, Atsumu worries he hurt a second person in as many hours. But then the tiniest of smiles stretches across Sakusa’s face and he says “once or twice.” 

Atsumu returns the smile, briefly, face falling when he catches sight of the empty seat in front of him.

“Are you here by yourself?” asks Sakusa. 

Atsumu cards his fingers through his undercut. “Uh, yeah.” It’s not technically a lie. He might be in Osaka with Suna and they might have arrived at the cafe together but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s alone right now.

Sakusa hums like he isn’t sure he believes Atsumu and pulls out the chair opposite him. “Right.” He doesn’t ask if he can join and Atsumu appreciates it. 

He shrugs out of his jacket. “If I’m going to have to listen to you for the next god knows how long then I’m going to need some caffeine. What do you want?”

Atsumu isn’t quite sure what’s going on but it feels too fragile to question. This Sakusa is not the same he knew from training camp or from their brief interactions at nationals earlier this year. Atsumu can’t really put a finger on why. But if it means Sakusa will stay here with him and drink his coffee, then he’s not going to question it. 

Saksua returns, tea in one hand and coffee in the other. 

“To go cups?” Sakusa hands him one of the cups. 

“You like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.”

“Aw! I knew you cared!” 

“I don’t. I’m saving all the nice people in this cafe from having to listen to you.”

“Whatever you say, Omi-kun.” 

Sakusa’s brows knit together. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Sure, Omi-kun. Where are we goin’? Ya gonna show me the big city?” 

“Osaka is _not_ the big city.” 

“The medium city then.” 

Sakusa rolls his eyes. “Are you coming or not?” 

They end up in a park. The sun is starting to set making the air uncomfortably chilly. Atsumu sips his tea, happy to have something to do with his hands. 

They walk in silence for a while before it’s broken by Sakusa seemingly choking on air. “Do you-” he falters when Atsumu turns to look at him.

Atsumu quirks a brow and takes another sip.

“Do-uhh-”

“Do I?” 

Sakusa coughs. 

“Are ya okay Omi-kun? Yer not sick are ya?” 

Sakusa’s face flushes a deep red. “Shut up.” 

“Alrighty.” 

“I was going to ask if you wanted to talk about whatever has you looking like a kicked puppy or if you’d rather be distracted. Or neither I guess is also an option.” 

Atsumu considers it, surprised that Sakusa would even offer. This Sakusa is different from the one he last saw ten months ago. Or maybe Atsumu was too busy to notice. 

“Distracted,” he says at last. 

This doesn’t appear to be the answer Sakusa was expecting. 

Atsumu takes pity on him and-

“Know anything about Star Trek?” 

Sakusa’s brows pinch together. “What?” 

“Ya-know- Kirk, Scotty, Bones- Star Trek?” 

“Do you mean Star Wars?” 

“Omi-kun! Nooo! Please they’re two totally different franchises. Have you seriously never ever heard of Star Trek?” 

“Are you going to tell me about it or just keep looking at me like I’m an alien?” ‘

Atsumu grins. “Well, speaking of aliens.” 

“So there are aliens.” 

“Omi-kun, is that even a question? Of course, there are aliens! One of the main characters is an alien.” 

Sakusa makes a vague gesture with his hand, spurring him to continue. 

“Alright, the year is 2233, James T. Kirk is born in the United States. More specifically, Riverdale, Iowa. I don’t know much about Iowa, other than it’s a lot of cornfields and cows so I imagine it’s pretty boring. Anyway-no-wait” he backhands Sakusa in the chest. “Do you want the sad version or the sad-sad version?” 

“The what?” 

“Okay so the sad version is the original timeline and the sad-sad one is the alternate original series.” 

“Are you going to tell me about both anyway?” 

“Yep!” 

“Let’s get the sad-sad or whatever you called it out of the way then.” 

“Excellent choice.” Atsumu claps his hands once. “Back to Kirk. What a wild life this dude lived. First of all, in the AOS timeline, he’s born on a fuckin’ spaceship during a battle. Unfortunately, his father has to sacrifice himself for his family and crew. That’s just the beginning” 

Sakusa listens until the sun has dipped below the sky, where there were once shades of orange, red, and purple is now a deep midnight blue. 

“Right so then Khan says- ‘is there nothing you would not do for your family’ which is just, so painful,” 

“Atsumu-”

“And you know- you know! Kirk _would do_ anything for his family! The juxtaposition, man,” he clutches his chest. “It’s just too much sometimes.” 

“Atsumu-”

“Wah-huh?” 

“You have tryouts tomorrow, right? For the Black Jackals?” 

“Oh shit yeah, it’s getting pretty late, isn’t it?” He tugs his phone from his pocket. 4 missed texts from Suna, 5 from Osamu, and 1 missed call from Suna. He deletes the messages from Osamu without reading them. He clicks on Suna’s name next. 

**Where tf r u?**

**Hello???**

**If u don’t answer my phone call i’m gonna sic osamu on you**

**You better be dead in a gutter somewhere**

“Ah fuck, Suna’s gonna kill me.” 

“So you weren’t alone.” Sakusa quirks a brow.

Atsumu groans. “Yeah well me and Sunarin, and Osamu for that matter, are in a bit of a fight right now and Suna stormed out on me two minutes before you walked in. Don’t look at me like that it wasn’t my fault.” 

Sakusa doesn’t say anything. 

“Okay, maybe it was a little my fault.” 

Sakusa hums. “I see.” 

“I should probably head back so I can get a headstart on ignoring Suna’s cold glare.” 

“Do you want me to walk you back?” 

Atsumu shakes his head. “Nah, that’s okay Omi-kun. I need the time to think up my next case against Suna fuckin’ Rintarou. Unless he’s magically gotten his head out of his ass in the last three hours.” 

“Good luck then. Wait, give me your phone,” Sakusa says reaching out with one hand.

“Huh?”

“Just do it.” 

“Fine. Fine.” Atsumu drops his phone into the waiting hand.

“For if you get lost or something.” 

Atsumu grins. “Right, okay, Omi-kun, whatever ya say. Do ya want mine?” 

Sakusa shakes his head. “Don’t need it. I’m sure you’ll text me some bullshit soon enough and I can just save it then.” 

“Yer making me swoon Omi-kun, ya know me so well.” 

Atsumu talks too much. Osamu isn’t much of a talker. When they were kids, their parents said Atsumu more than made up for everything Osamu didn’t have to say. That holds true today too. 

Atsumu also doesn’t know when to quit. That much he and Osamu do have in common. They’re both stubborn assholes who don’t know how to let anything go. This is Suna and Osamu’s happiness on the line. He sure as hell isn’t going to let this go without a fight. 

“We’ve established that this ain’t about Osamu so then what’s it about?” 

Suna rubs his temples and groans. “Get this through your tiny brain. I _do not_ want to try out for MSBY. Why I don’t is my business and no one else's.”

“Does Osamu know why?” 

“Drop it.” 

Atsumu hums. “So _he does_ know.” 

“He doesn’t.” 

“Ya know by refusing to tell me, ya kind told me. If it really ain’t about Osamu, then you would tell me. But ya refuse to tell me so ya played yourself.” 

“I told you, I want to explore what the world has to offer.” 

“Bullshit. We both know that’s a lie. I’m yer best friend, Suna, just tell me.” 

“And have you run and tell Osamu? No, thank you. You can’t keep anything a secret to save your life.” 

_“Suna.”_

“ _Atsumu._ ” 

“So what if I told Osamu? Maybe then he could talk some sense into ya since you’ll never listen to a word I have to say.” 

“Atsumu! Fine! I’ll try out Will that get you to shut up and leave me alone?” 

“It’s a start, but-”

Suna groans and tugs on his hair. “Fine! I don’t want to try out because I’m scared! Scared of not making the team and being crushed. Scared of making it and going out with Osamu and it still not working out. Of making the team and being too busy with training to be the kind of boyfriend Osamu deserves. Of making the team and just being a distraction in the way of Osamu’s own goals. 

“I’m scared of making the team then dating Osamu _and_ it working out because how the hell can I trust myself to make a decision like that at 18! I can’t choose a team or a city for a boy! We’re 18 and 19! Teenagers aren’t known for making sound life choices!” Suna takes a deep breath, eyes wild, and chest heaving, just a bit.

“Suna! You’ve been keepin’ that all to yourself? How have you not dropped dead from the stress? Jeez, have ya considered that maybe yer thinkin’ too hard about all of this? Not everything has to be so complicated.” 

“It’s not complicated,” Suna seethes. “It’s simple. I have my goals. Osamu has his. They don’t fit together. At least this way we’re still friends. There’s no risk this way.” 

Atsumu laughs. “Do ya really think there’s no risk? Ya could just as easily move away for EJP Raisin and slowly but surely you and Samu talk less and less. Drifting apart the way most high school friends do as they grow into adulthood. Don’t lie to yourself. This is just as risky.” 

“They’re our lives, Atsumu. Our lives. Our decision. You have to figure out how to deal with that because I’m not going to change my mind and neither is Osamu.” 

Atsumu wants to rip his hair out. How is he friends with these two idiots?

“But why? Why not just let yourselves be happy?”

“Atsumu!” Suna snaps. “I know. Okay? You don’t like it. I don’t like it. Osamu doesn’t like it. But it’s our choice, now please can you let it go so Osamu and I can get on with the getting-over-each-other-thing? Have you considered how much this sucks? How much this fucking hurts? I don’t need you picking at it like a scab that won’t heal and neither does Osamu. Leave. Us. Alone.

“Now drop it. I’ll go to fucking MSBY’s tryouts with you. Shut up. Get your bag. Let’s go.” 

“Suna.” 

“No,” Suna hefts his duffle bag onto his shoulder. “I said let’s go.” 

Unlike their time with the Red Falcons or EJP Raijin, at MSBY tryouts Atsumu and Suna are not on the same side of the net. That is great for him because now he can aim all of his serves right at his bastard best friend. The whistle blows, he takes six steps, the ball goes up and he smacks it with all the strength he can muster right into the smug face of one Suna Rintarou. He likes to think he can see the exact moment Suna realizes what he’s doing, the subtle shift from annoyed to pissed off. 

Suna sinks lower into his knees and ankles, the ball strikes his forearms with a loud thwack then ricochets out of bounds. Suna’s gaze follows the ball then snaps back to Atsumu. His expression says it all. Pissed. 

Atsumu smirks, smug and pleased. He sets up again but this time Suna is ready. Suna receives the ball effortlessly sending it back over the net. 

The setter tosses, the ball goes up, and Suna takes aim to spike.

Atsumu doesn’t hesitate, rushing to the net to block just because it’s Suna. Suna makes contact with the ball and Atsumu jumps, the ball slaps against his palms ricocheting across the net. Inunaki receives the ball and it glides through the air. The setter moves into position. 

It’s Bokuto who leaps this time. The ball slams into the floor. Suna didn't score the point but he looks pleased nonetheless. Atsumu glares. 

The air on the court is tense. He revels in it. 

They use every opportunity of the next four hours to wail on each other whenever the moment presents itself. Suna takes aim for Atsumu during his serves, paying Atsumu back in kind. 

They leave tryouts tired and just as pissed off at each other as they were when they arrived. 

Suna finishes changing first and leaves the locker room without him. A far cry from high school where Suna more often than not was one of the last out each afternoon. Unhurried and lazy.

Atsumu tugs his hoodie over his head, shoulders his duffle bag, and heads for the exit.

“Miya, wait up!” Atsumu turns to see Bokuto Kotarou running down the hall. 

Atsumu plasters on his best fake smile. “Bokkun, what can I do ya for?”

“What was up with you and the middle blocker? Suna? I thought you guys were going to kill each other out there! I think Inunaki had 119 already dialed!” 

Atsumu cringes. Were they really that obvious? Well, he isn’t exactly known for being subtle, and with him and Suna on their A-game, he shouldn't be surprised that they looked like they were ready to commit a dual murder.

A hand comes down on Atsumu’s shoulder. “I had the same question Miya-kun,” Meian, _captain_ of the MSBY Black Jackals, says. Atsumu cringes again. Uh-oh. “Murder on the court isn’t something we look upon fondly here.” 

“Oh um,” Atsumu stammers. _Get yourself together, Miya!_

Meian’s expression shifts from stern to something a little softer, more fatherly, and concerned. Gross. “I’m serious, Miya. Is everything alright? Anything we can help you with?”

The thought of explaining the absolute mess he’s dug himself into to the _captain_ of the Black Jackals is more than Atsumu’s mind can comprehend right now. 

He shakes his head. “Suna and I are in a little fight but all best friends fight sometimes, ya know? We’ll work it out.” Atsumu isn’t sure how much of it is a lie. 

Meian’s eyebrows draw together and he frowns. “Do you have someone you can talk to? I think you need it.” 

Immediately, Atsumu thinks of Sakusa who put his phone number into Atsumu’s phone not 24 hours ago.

He nods. “Yessir.” 

“Alright then.”

“Miya?” Sakusa answers after the third ring. “When I said I knew I’d hear from you soon, I thought it would be at least 24 hours.” 

Atsumu laughs. “Maybe ya don’t know me as well as I thought, Omi-kun.” 

Sakusa hums. “Well?” 

“Well, what?” 

“I assume you had a reason for calling or did you just want to catch up?” 

“Oh right, I had three choices, right?” 

“Huh?” 

“Yesterday. Talk about it, be distracted, or none of the above. I’d like to cash in on option A if ya aren’t busy that is.” 

Sakusa is silent and for a moment Atsumu thinks he is going to say no. 

“Sure, I’ll text you my address.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, that was easier than I thought.”

Atsumu’s phone buzzes.

“Hurry up before I change my mind.” 

“Yessir!” 

Sakusa ends the call without saying goodbye as Atsumu types the address into his gps app. 

Sakusa greets him wearing a worn pair of sweatpants and hoodie, looking far softer and warmer than Atsumu could ever have imagined him before. 

Sakusa moves out the way so Atsumu can come in. He tugs off his shoes and follows Sakusa into his shoebox sized dorm room. Two posters hang on one wall. One is of the MSBY Black Jackals and the other is for some band Atsumu hasn’t heard of. There’s a coffee maker with half a pot of coffee languishing on a table and a neat row of books lines the shelf above the desk. It’s nice. Quaint. It’s not what Atsumu expected from Sakusa Kiyoomi that’s for sure. 

It’s the third poster that really gets his attention. 12 chibi animals, the members of the Chinese Zodiac and the forgotten cat. 

“No fuckin way, you, _Sakusa Kiyoomi_ , like Fruits Basket?” 

Sakusa scowls. _“Yes._ ” 

“Oh shit, dude! Oh I just know you stan Hatori! Come on, do ya? He seems like your type, all dark and tragic and mysterious.”

If it were possible, Atsumu swears he scowls harder. 

“If you must know, it’s about the repressed emotions. The way that he selflessly puts his own happiness aside for Kana. He doesn’t give up his happiness for the family like so many of the other Somas, maybe a little, but really it’s for her. It’s not until Kana, his wife, wants her memories erased that he even considers it.

"It speaks to how genuinely good of a person he is. It’s not about his suffering. He can put that aside to help people. It all reflects what his character is at the core, he doesn’t exist for himself, he exists for the happiness of others.”

“Holy shit, Omi-kun.” 

Sakusa shrugs. “You asked.” 

“That was beautiful.” 

“Which character?” 

“What?” 

Sakusa points to the poster. “Which character?”

“Oh, Hiro, obviously.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That little asshole?" 

“That surprise ya, Omi-kun?” 

Sakusa thinks for a moment. “No, Hiro is a little shit. It all makes sense now.” 

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or offended.” 

“So he is your favorite?”

“Well, yeah!” Atsumu throws his arms into the air. “But not because he’s a little shit. He’s my favorite because he cares so much but he’s 12 so he’s absolutely shit at expressing it.” He shrugs. “Hiro just loves a lot, ya know?” 

Sakusa’s expression shifts into something Atsumu can’t place. 

“You didn’t come here to talk about the Sohmas.” 

Atsumu swallows. No, he didn’t. 

“There’s not much room in here but you can sit if you want to, just not on the bed.” 

Atsumu nods and takes a seat on the floor, legs folded criss-cross like he’s in elementary school again. Sakusa mirrors him and waits.

“Level with me, Omi-kun, am I an asshole?” 

Sakusa snorts. “Is that even a question?” 

Atsumu pouts and crosses his arms. “Okay, I know I can be an asshole sometimes but is it a defining personality trait? Am I an asshole to my frien-” he trails off remembering the look on Suna’s face after tryouts. His stomach drops. “Oh shit, I am an asshole.” 

“I’m going to regret asking but what did you do, Miya?” 

Atsumu takes a deep breath, this is going to be a long story. He starts at the beginning, freshman year when Suna Rintarou and Miya Osamu first laid eyes on each other and began dancing their weird fucking courting ritual that went awry on graduation night. By the time he catches up he’s lying flat on his back, limbs spread across the meager space in Sakusa’s room. 

“So anyway, now Suna and I have been fighting all week because they’re both too stubborn to tell me what the hell happened. I don’t want to make fun of them or anything. It just sucks to watch them be miserable when they could be _happy._ Ya know, together.” 

Sakusa takes a moment before speaking. “Are you sure they’re miserable? It sounds like they were doing okay until your fight with Suna.” 

“Ya should have seen their faces that night! I’ve never seen Osamu or Suna look that miserable and for what?”

“But are they miserable now?” 

“Well, Suna is.” 

“But that was your fault for dragging it back up. He said so himself.” 

Atsumu groans. “Why do ya have to be so logical?” 

“Do you want them to be happy?”

“ _Yes.”_

“Then do what they asked and butt out of their business.” 

“But how do I know they’re really happy then!”

“They’re adults, you have to trust them. And if they’re not happy, and it’s because of each other, then that’s their problem to deal with on their own time. Not yours.” 

“Argh! Why do ya have to make sense! I get it, I was an asshole! I just want to make sure they’re okay,” he pauses, hauling his torso up suddenly to face Sakusa. “Don’t ever tell them I said that or you’re dead meat.” 

Sakusa mimes zipping his lips. 

“Now what the hell am I supposed to do.” 

“You could start with an apology.” 

Atsumu wrinkles his nose. Sakusa is right. “Fine,” he groans. “You’re right. I fucked up. Fuck, am I as bad as Osamu? Did _I_ hurt Suna too? Ah fuck, I’m a terrible best friend.” 

Sakusa shrugs. “You are an asshole. But I don’t think it has to always be a bad thing. You acted like an asshole, or rather, you cared so much you _became_ an asshole. You can’t force your friend or your brother to be happy.” 

“Huh, I guess that’s one way of putting it. Thanks, Omi-kun. I think I should be gettin’ back. I hate to admit it, but I think I owe Suna an apology.” 

Sakusa nods. “Good luck. I think you’re going to need it.” 

He thought about what he would say the whole way home. But the apology dies on his lips the moment he sees Suna. 

Suna is bundled up like a giant blanket burrito when Atsumu returns to their hotel room. Suna glares when he walks in. He looks pathetic lying there with his eyes rimmed red and puffy. Suna sniffles once and Atsumu’s stomach floods with shame. Maybe he hasn’t been the best friend he claims to be. 

“Suna,” Atsumu says. 

“I don’t want to hear it anymore, Atsumu. We have an early train tomorrow. Just do whatever you have to do then turn out the light so I can get some sleep.” 

Atsumu opens and shuts his mouth several times before giving up. He shuffles to his side of the room and digs out a pair of clean sweatpants and his toothbrush then heads for the bathroom. He’s lost after seeing Suna with his face covered in dried tear tracks, curled up like a cat that got left out in the rain.

He takes his time in the bathroom, carefully weighing each word. If he’s going to apologize, it has to sound like he means it because for once he actually _does._

He finishes up in the bathroom, squares his shoulders, and marches into the room like a man heading to his execution and proud of it. 

“Suna.” 

“ _What?”_ Suna all but hisses 

He cuts straight to the point. “I’m sorry.” 

Suna cracks open one eye. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“I mean it, Suna. I fucked up and I’m sorry.” 

Suna sits up, the blanket burrito unraveling around his shoulders. “I’m listening.” 

Atsumu runs a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Osamu but it’s none of my business if ya don’t want to tell me. I just want you two dumbasses to be happy but it’s not up for me to decide what will make ya happy. I’m sorry for rubbin’ salt in the wound. I’m done bein’ an asshole.” 

Suna snorts. “That’s likely.” 

“Okay, I’m done bein’ an asshole about whatever shit you and Osamu got yourselves into. I won’t stop being an asshole about everything else though. Not until hell freezes over. Actually probably after that.” 

Suna considers this. “Do you mean it? You’ll leave Osamu alone too?” 

Atsumu nods. “I’m never gonna stop botherin’ either of ya but I’m done bothering ya over this. It’s your business.” He pauses. “I just wanna know yer gonna be okay, in the long run, I mean.” 

Suna shifts, the tension draining out of his shoulders. “We’ll be fine, Atsumu. We _are_ fine.” 

Atsumu lets out a long breath. Relieved. “I’m glad t’ hear it.” 

“You wanna watch Naruto?” 

Atsumu smiles. Everything _is_ okay. “Hell yeah! Do ya even to ask? Scoot over, Sunarin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank u ghosty for the Hatori speech.
> 
> And thank u eve for your extensive atsumu knowledge for the number of steps in atsumu's serve
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> pancakesurprisd on [twitter](https://twitter.com/pancakesurprisd)


	3. start all over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suna moves. Atsumu and Osamu help.

On a dreary day in November, Suna, Atsumu, and Osamu gather around the Miya family kotatsu to declare their next move. It’s Atsumu who insists they announce their decision this way. Dramatic. 

Atsumu takes his time waltzing into the room, a sealed envelope in hand before sitting down with a flourish. Suna looks on, bored, but it’s all for show. He’s just as excited as Atsumu is. And maybe a little bit nervous too. 

Next to him, Osamu yawns, expecting nothing less than Atsumu’s theatrics. As if he isn’t every bit as dramatic under the right circumstances. 

“Can we get this started?” Suna says.

Atsumu folds his hands neatly in front of him. “This is one of the most important conversations of our lives. This ain’t the time to rush anything. ‘S important.” 

Suna hates that deep down, he agrees with Atsumu. It  _ is  _ every bit as important as Atsumu’s dramatics are making it out to be. And if Atsumu weren’t here, then he would be obligated to be equally dramatic. All will only admit it over his dead body. 

“Do you have to word it like that? Stop making it sound like such a big deal,” Suna says. 

Atsumu gasps. “Sunarin _.  _ I’m offended. We’re about to announce the most- ouch! Samu! That hurt.” Atsumu rubs his bicep, freshly punched by Osamu. 

“Get on with it. Some of us would like to move on with our day.” 

It’s a front. Suna knows it is. Osamu is excited too. Probably almost as much as he and Atsumu are. Just because he’s not going pro doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. 

“As I was saying, for shame, Suna Rintarou. Now, will you do the honors? You’re the guest here.” 

That’s a load of shit. Suna stopped counting as a guest at the Miya household sometime mid first year. Suna rolls his eyes but he’s grinning when he hands over an envelope to Osamu. 

Osamu tears the envelope, pulls out the scrap of paper, then carefully unfolds it. His eyes briefly scan the paper before he looks back at them. 

“What do we have?” Atsumu says. 

“EJP Raijin.” 

Two weeks after their epic road trip adventure, Suna heard back from two of the teams: the Tachibana Red Falcons and EJP Raijin. He was tempted to accept the offer from the Red Falcons, drawn in by the allure of a familiar face on the team. It would be fun to play on the same team as Aran again. But it would also be cool to play  _ against  _ his former teammates. Nothing like a little rivalry to keep things interesting. 

And when it came down to it, there was something about EJP Raijin that seemed right to him. A gut feeling that this was the place he was meant to be. 

Suna follows his gut. 

Atsumu gasps like that wasn’t exactly what all three of them expected Suna to choose. “EJP Raisin. Very nice.” 

Suna sighs and rests his chin in his hand. He gave up correcting Atsumu within a day of their original try out. 

“Alright Tsumu, that means yer up,” Osamu says.

Atsumu hands his envelope to Osamu who opens it with half the care he used to open Suna’s.

Osamu clears his throat. “MSBY Black Jackals. Osaka.” 

“Wow, what a shock,” Suna says but, still, he’s smiling. MSBY is the perfect place for Atsumu, Suna has no doubt that he will be happy there. 

Suna doesn’t hear anything from MSBY. After MSBY tryouts, while Atsumu was off god-knows-where, Suna went to the coaching staff and requested to be removed from consideration. It was better this way. This way the matter was in his own hands, the decision no one else's but Suna’s. 

He doesn’t tell Atsumu or Osamu about it. They’d give him shit for giving up any chance at all. Neither of them would understand and he would rather listen to Atsumu talk nonstop for 4 days over dragging up all the reasons why trying out for MSBY terrified him. 

Atsumu grins. “That’s right. MSBY Black Jackals. Just you wait, Sunarin, with me on the team we’re gonna wipe the floor with EJP Raisin.” 

“I’ll take that bet,” Suna says, reaching to shake Atsumu’s hand. 

“For all the hype, that was anticlimactic,” Osamu muses once it’s over. “I don’t know what I expected.”

“Well, what about you?” Atsumu folds his arms over his chest. “What are ya gonna do?” 

“Ya know what I’m gonna do.” 

“No, we know what ya  _ want  _ to do. Not what yer gonna do  _ next _ .” 

Osamu hums. He doesn’t deny it.

“He’s got a point,” Suna says. 

He sits back, choosing his next words carefully. “I’ve got a few ideas I’m mullin’ over. I’ll tell ya as soon as I settle on one.” 

Atsumu frowns. Suna doesn’t like the answer either. But the firm line of Osamu’s mouth is an expression both of them are familiar with and it says that Osamu won’t say another word on the subject until he’s ready. Atsumu seems to recognize this too, dropping the topic in favor of another. 

“Alright. If Suna is moving to Shizuoka, then you know what we have to do Samu.” 

They share a glance, nodding in tandem. 

Suna looks between them, torn between asking more and pretending he didn’t see anything at all. There are seldom few times where a shared look between the Miya twins resulted in anything that wasn’t tied to a scheme of some sort. The creepy twin antics are fun when used on unsuspecting strangers or acquaintances but it’s not nearly as fun to be on the receiving end of it. On this side it’s foreboding. 

He decides he doesn’t want to know. 

Osamu sighs and folds his hands behind his head. “Next order of business, when’s the move?” 

Right. _ That _ . 

“January,” Suna says. Just over a month away. 

Osamu hums noncommittally and it annoys Suna that he can’t tell what he’s thinking. 

“Before or after yer birthday?” Atsumu asks and pulls Suna out of his thoughts. 

“January 30th, after my birthday.” 

It’s scary, imagining the move. But at least he gets one more celebration here in Hyogo, with two of his best friends beside him, before the three of them truly venture out on their own. 

Atsumu and Osamu grin in tandem and for the second time, Suna pretends not to see the silent conversation passing between them. Whatever they’re scheming, Suna wants nothing to do with it. He put too much effort into avoiding their (schemes) in high school to be dragged into one now. 

Osamu stands, hands shoved into the pockets of his black sweatpants. “Yer on neighborhoods,” he nods at Atsumu. 

“And apartments and you-” 

Osamu’s eyes light up. “I’m on food.” 

Suna’s brows pinch together. This doesn’t sound like any plan he’s heard the twins hatch before. “What?” 

“ _ Neighborhoods and apartments _ ,” Atsumu repeats. 

“ _ Food _ ,” Osamu shrugs like Suna is stupid for asking. Maybe he is. 

“I’m not following.” 

“Ya think we’re gonna let ya do all the hard work of movin’ yerself?” Atsumu shakes his head. “And I thought we were friends.” 

It isn’t a side of Atsumu and Osamu that many people recognize or would even believe exists. For all that they are assholes, Atsumu and Osamu are equally great friends. The kind of friends that will gleefully push you to the ground for shits and giggles but they’re the first to have your back in a fight, no questions asked. The kind of friends that Suna is going to miss more than he is ready to admit. 

Suna gapes like an idiot. “You don’t have to-” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Osamu says. “I already started researchin’ so don’t bother.” 

“But, you didn’t even know where I was moving to.” 

Osamu shoots him a disappointed look. “Ya think I don’t know ya better than that?” 

“I-”

“Hey! I knew it too!” Atsumu shoves Osamu. 

“I never said ya didn’t!” 

Osamu throws a punch and that’s all it takes for the two of them to end up on the floor, wrestling each other within an inch of life. Nothing more than a normal Tuesday. 

Yeah, Suna is going to miss these assholes. 

When Suna imagined moving for the first time, he assumed it would be his parents who helped him move into his new place. But January 30th is a Friday and both of his parents have to work. With Osamu and Atsumu chomping at the bit to help him in any way they can, it seems silly to ask his parents to take a day off of work when he has two feral, and strong, friends at the ready who can help lug boxes up 3 sets of stairs. 

Suna isn’t from Hyogo. Inarizaki recruited him for volleyball in middle school and he moved from Aichi to Hyogo to join the team. He hasn’t lived in Hyogo longer than three years. So why does this move feel just almost as nerve wracking as moving from his hometown at the age of 14? Suna doesn’t think of himself as someone who gets attached to places. But then, it’s not really the place itself that leaves the dull pain in his chest when he thinks about the move. It’s the people he’s leaving behind.

The apartment is one of Atsumu’s recommendations from the endless list he sent Suna over the past few months. It’s small but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t need much space. Best of all, it’s only a ten minute walk from EJP’s training center. That’s the kind of commute he can get behind. 

Osamu groans, setting down the massive box Kita had dropped off just before they left early this morning.

“Kita said we hafta clean the place before we start to unpack yer stuff,” Osamu says, opening the box to reveal a plethora of various cleaning supplies. 

Suna wrinkles his nose. Kita is right, of course, but that doesn’t make the idea of spending a bunch of time cleaning the place any more exciting. 

“I spent all last night makin’ the perfect cleaning playlist, let’s power through this. Samu, yer on the kitchen and Suna, the bedroom,” Atsumu pulls himself up to his full height like a man about to head off to war. “And I’ll take care of the bathroom. Let’s get this over with.”

The cleaning goes about as well as can be expected of three 19-year-old boys. Some areas of the apartment get better treatment than others: the shower, refrigerator, and sink while others don’t get so much as a once over. But, by the time they’re done, the place looks a lot better than it did when they first arrived and that’s all Suna could hope for. He’s happy with the results. 

The unpacking part is much more unpleasant than the cleaning. He almost, keyword  _ almost, _ wishes he was elbows deep in diluted bleach again. At least then he wouldn’t have to suffer through Atsumu and Osamu judging every possession he’s ever owned one by one. 

“Who ya textin’?” Osamu asks, mouth full of pizza after they’ve cleaned the apartment within an inch of life and unpacked half the boxes. 

Atsumu looks up, eyes wide like he’s been caught red-handed in the cookie jar. His face turns a brilliant shade of red. 

He’s hiding something. This is going to be good. 

Atsumu hesitates then says, “Um, Gin?” Atsumu’s voice cracks. 

Suna snorts. “Well, that was a lie. I’ve never seen your face get that red from textin’  _ Gin _ of all people. Was that really the best lie you could come up with?” He shakes his head. “For shame.” 

“Yeah, Tsumu, yer not foolin’ anybody. Fess up, who is it?” 

Atsumu hugs his phone to his chest, hiding the screen, and doesn’t say anything while his face turns a deeper and deeper shade of red. 

“Oh,” says Suna. 

“ _ Oh,”  _ Osamu smirks. “Interestin’. Could it be that Atsumu has a crush? Or worse-”

“-a boyfriend!” Suna says with a gasp. 

“I don’t know what you guys are talkin’ about. I don’t have a crush. And I sure as hell don’t have a boyfriend.” 

“But ya want one,” Osamu says. 

Suna smirks. “That much is obvious.” 

Suna and Osamu share a glance then strike in tandem. Osamu goes for the shoulder, knocking Atsumu to the floor and pinning him there while Suna goes for the phone in Atsumu’s hand. 

“Samu!” Atsumu kicks him hard in the shin but he holds on steadfast. “You guys are the worst!” Atsumu groans. “Look all ya want, I don’t have anything to hide.” 

This is what their friendship is built on, two of them ganging up on the third to give them shit. But it’s no fun when the 3rd gives up so easily. Suna feels uneasy like they poked at the wrong button and are one wrong step away from entering dangerous territory. 

He and Osamu share a look. Atsumu is bluffing, if you can call it that, and he’s definitely hiding something, but they agree to let him go. Suna surrenders, dropping the phone on Atsumu’s chest at the same time that Osamu rolls off of him. If Atsumu wants to tell them what’s going on, he will and they can resume roasting him then. 

Atsumu’s brows pinch together, not used to their tussles ending so suddenly. “Huh?” 

Osamu shrugs. “ ‘S no fun if ya give up that easy. I don’t care who yer talkin’ to.” 

Another bluff. Risky.

“So what, just like that, ya don’t care?” 

Atsumu takes the bait and Suna fights back a grin. 

Osamu holds his hands up between himself and Osamu in a placating gesture. “I’m sure you’ll tell me what ya want to, if ya want to.”

Atsumu sits up with a huff, clearly torn between being relieved that Osamu and Suna gave up their attack and wanting to egg them on. 

“If yer so sure I’m hidin’ something, what’s yer evidence?” 

“Are ya kiddin’ me, Tsumu?” 

“You’ve been smiling at your phone like an idiot all day, it wasn’t that hard to figure out,” Suna says. 

Atsumu frowns. “I haven’t been grinnin’! I don’t know where yer talkin’ about!” 

Suna hums.“Interesting. You’re a bit-” he taps his chin and hums. “- _defensive_. Suspicious, if you ask me. What do you think, Osamu?” 

“Suspicious as fuck.” 

Atsumu, ever the attention seeker that he is, glances down at his phone, pouts, then throws it at Osamu. “Look all ya want, I ain’t got nothin’ to hide.” 

Osamu quirks a brow and hands the phone to Suna. “So you say but we’ll be the judge of that.” 

“My bet is on lying,” Suna says as he taps Atsumu’s passcode from memory. Their passcodes are more for show than anything else. They cracked each others' passwords years ago. 

“Oh,” Osamu grins. “Same.” 

Suna looks down at the phone in hand. “Holy shit.” 

“Huh?” 

He holds out the phone for Osamu to see for himself. 

“Holy shit.” 

“I  _ know _ ,” Suna says gleefully.  _ This  _ is way better than anything he expected. 

Atsumu groans. “It’s rude t’ go through people’s things! Ya know!”

“Yer the one that threw the phone at me! Tell US, Tsumu, whadya doin’ textin’ Sakusa fuckin’ Kiyoomi?” 

Atsumu's face turns a brilliant shade of red. Got ‘em. Hole in one. 

“Oh shit,” says Suna. “This is worse than I thought. That look can only mean one thing.”

Osamu grins but it’s more conniving than gleeful. “When were ya gonna tell us yer crushing on Sakusa Kiyoomi?” 

“Atsumu!” Suna shouts, not bothering to give Atsumu a chance to answer. “No way! You have a crush on Sakusa Kiyoomi!” He laughs, delighted by this turn of events. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He punches Atsumu on the arm and repeats, “why didn’t you tell me!”

Atsumu gapes. “I-uh-” 

Suna frowns. “I thought we were best friends? And ya didn’t tell me about your crush!” Suna shakes his head. Atsumu isn’t the only one who knows how to be dramatic. “For shame.” 

Atsumu’s jaw drops like he’s only just now realized this himself. Oh my god, did he just realize this now? 

“Holy shit,” Suna says nearly squealing. He pounces on Atsumu, shakes him by the shoulders. “You didn’t know until now!” 

Behind him Osamu is laughing, the deep, full-belly laugh that normally only comes out when they’re delirious from exhaustion when someone says some nonsense like ‘egg’ and they all lose their shit. 

Atsumu swats at him, tries to pry Suna’s fingers off his shoulders but Suna just keeps shaking him, half in shock himself from this new revelation. 

“Suna! It’s not a big deal! Let me go!” 

“It’s not a big deal! I’ve never seen you this embarrassed before! That means- that means- well, I don’t know what it means but it means something and I’m going to get to the bottom of it!” 

Osamu reigns his laughter in after a few failed attempts and slaps Atsumu on the back. “If it wasn’t a big deal then ya wouldn’t be tryin' to hide yer phone from us now would ya? Somewhere deep in that thick skull of yers, ya knew that ya have a big ‘ole crush on Sakusa Kiyoomi but the rest of ya hadn’t caught up yet.” 

There’s a fire in Atsumu’s eyes that can only be lit by the utter terror of an impending roast from your best friends. He opens and shuts his mouth several times before he finally manages a simple, “what?” 

“Oh my god, yer hopeless,” Osamu says. 

“Did ya really not know?” 

“ _ No,”  _ Atsumu pauses. He swallows. “But I think ya might be right. Holy shit. I have a crush on Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

Suna smirks. This is going to be fun. “Fess up, tell me everything.” 

“Wait,” Osamu says. “How the hell did ya even start talkin’ to Sakusa Kiyoomi?” 

Suna gasps and punches Atsumu in the arm again. “Has this been going on since nationals? A year ago!” 

“Pfft, there’s no way he coulda kept that a secret for that long.” 

“Excuse me! I’m great at keepin’ secrets!” 

Suna snorts. “That’s rich.” 

“Wait-” Osamu holds a hand up. “Don’t, we’re gettin’ derailed. Ya didn’t answer the question, Tsumu, how did ya start talkin’ to Sakusa Kiyoomi?” 

“I ran into him in Osaka.” 

Suna’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “Wait, when you and I were in Osaka for tryouts? How?” 

Atsumu runs a hand through his hair, pointedly avoiding eye contact with either Suna or Osamu. “Oh, uh, he came into the coffee shop after you left. He goes to school in Osaka.” 

“And what, he just sat down and started talkin’ to ya?” 

“Actually, he, um, bought me a drink and then we went on a walk?” 

“A walk,” Suna says.

“Yeah.” 

“Did ya annoy him into talkin’ to ya?” 

“No!” 

“Then what happened?”

Atsumu rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks burn red. “I was pretty upset, ya know?” he says, looking at Suna. “And it must’a been obvious because he said I looked like a cat that got left out in the rain and the next thing I knew we were in the park.” 

Osamu blinks, confused. 

Suna punches Atsumu on the arm. “You what! And you’re just telling me this now?!

“Wait,” Osamu says. “I’m lost.” Ah, so Atsumu didn’t tell Osamu the full details of their time in Osaka either. 

“We got in a fight,” Suna says without looking at Osamu. He’s not going to lie but he’s also not going to tell the truth and he’s never been a convincing liar when talking to Osamu. He doesn’t want to explain to Osamu  _ what  _ he and Atsumu spent countless hours arguing about that week. “It wasn’t a big deal but I left Atsumu behind in a coffee shop to cool down once.” 

“I deserved it though, I was an asshole that weekend.” 

Suna hums. “You were.” 

Osamu looks between them but doesn’t say anything. A moment passes in silence before Suna can’t take it anymore and breaks down asking, “you still haven’t explained why you’re texting Sakusa months later.”

“Yeah, ya must have really hit off on that impromptu coffee date.” 

“It wasn’t a date!” Atsumu blanches. “Uh, after tryouts for the Jackals.”

Suna tries to suppress a cringe and hopes it doesn’t show. That day was the worst of all of them. And hurt like a bitch too. 

“After, you know,” Atsumu looks at the floor, “Bokuto and Meian said some stuff to me. ‘Cause they could tell something was, um, off, and I realized that maybe I was bein’ an asshole. But it takes one to know one and all that so I called Sakusa up and ended up at his place.” 

“This is fuckin’ wild,” Osamu says, shaking his head. “Who woulda thought that not only would Tsumu be self aware enough to know that he was actin’ like an asshole  _ and  _ he’d go to Sakusa Kiyoomi for help.” 

Atsumu ignores him. “He listened to me talk and then told me I was an asshole.”

“So all things you needed to hear,” Suna says but there’s no bite behind it. He accepted Atsumu’s apology in the hotel months ago and hasn’t been bothered since. “But then you came back to the hotel and we worked it out,” Suna finishes the story for him. “Maybe I should send Sakusa Kiyoomi a thank you card.”

“We’ve sort of been talkin’ since then.” 

“And now ya have a crush?” Osamu asks. “Life is wild.” 

“Sakusa Kiyoomi, really?” Suna says. 

Atsumu shrugs. “He’s nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah, he sends me pictures of dogs when he goes on walks. What more could ya want in a man?”

“I'm dreamin’,” Osamu says. “I don’t believe this.”

“This is a gift that keeps on giving,” Suna says. 

“Well?” Osamu says. “What about the important question?”

“Huh?”

“Do ya think he likes ya back?” 

“Shut it. I’m done talkin’ about this,” he says and then shoves Osamu in the side. Suna laughs, a moment passes and all three of them are laughing, their dinner forgotten. 

“I think I’ve got it figured out,” Osamu says when their takeout boxes are shoved in the trash and they’re curled up in their sleeping bags. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” Suna turns over to face him. 

“What I’m gonna do next.” 

“Oh.”

“Well shit, Samu, spit it out. I wanna know,” Atsumu says. 

“I enrolled in a business class. It helps ya develop a business plan. While I do that, I’m gonna find a restaurant to work in, hopefully I'll pick up a few things. I already applied to a few places. And when I’m not doin’ any of that, I’m gonna perfect my onigiri recipes so that as soon as I can. I’ll open an onigiri shop and call it Onigiri Miya.” 

Suna doesn’t need convincing to believe it's a good idea. The confidence in Osamu’s voice is palpable and more than enough for Suna to believe in his plan wholeheartedly. Opening up a restaurant at age 19 is an ambitious goal. But this is Osamu. Osamu doesn’t bother with anything that he isn’t passionate about. And if he’s passionate about something, he gives it 110%. 

“That sounds perfect,” Suna says. 

“Hell yeah! When does the class start?” 

Suna can’t see him in the dark but he doesn’t need to see Osamu to know that he’s smiling when he says, “A month from now.” 

“Ya better write the most kickass business plan of all time,” Atsumu says. “I wanna be eating at Onigiri Miya within a year.” 

Osamu groans. He turns toward Suna.

“Sorry, gotta ride with Atsumu on this one. I’m gonna be Onigiri Miya’s first customer.” 

“Over my dead body!” Atsumu says far too loudly for 2am. 

Suna yawns. “We can duke it out the day of.” 

“Are ya nervous?” Atsumu asks when no one says anything else. 

Suna shoves him in the side. “No shit I’m nervous. When was the last time you moved somewhere by yourself?” 

“Excuse me! In case ya forgot, I’m movin’ to a new city in two weeks!” 

“Did ya forget yer movin’ with me? It ain’t the same.”

Atsumu groans. “Don’t remind me, I can’t get away from ya.” 

“At least you’ll have your own bedroom now,” Suna offers.

“Yeah, and at least ya won’t be alone. So stop bein’ a brat and complaining.” 

Suna appreciates what Osamu is trying to do. But he’s not bothered by Atsumu’s tactless words. Suna has moved before. There is nothing that EJP can throw at him that could top the fear he felt walking into Inarizaki’s gym for the first time. He’s still nervous but it’s nothing he hasn’t handled before. 

It will be fine.

He hopes.

They sleep in. Atsumu and Osamu have an early afternoon train to catch giving them plenty of time to sleep after their long night. When Suna wakes, it’s to find Osamu brewing tea with eggs sizzling in a pan on the stove. 

He rubs his eyes and shambles into the kitchen. 

“Where did you get that pan?” he says, still half asleep. 

“Brought it with me.” Osamu expertly flips the blank egg. 

“You brought...a pan? With you?” He probably shouldn’t be this surprised. It’s Osamu after all. But a pan?

“Knew ya wouldn’t have one. How ya gonna cook healthy meals that an athlete needs without so much as a frying pan?”

Suna shrugs. He would have figured something out. Probably. 

Osamu uses a spatula, also not Suna’s, to lift the eggs from the pan and onto a plate. He hands it to Suna, grinning. “Eat up. Yer first meal in yer new home should be home cooked. Last night doesn’t count. Ya weren’t moved in yet.” It’s a weak argument, but Suna is too stunned to come up with a good quip to reply with. 

“You made me eggs?”

“Why do ya sound so surprised? I cook for ya all the time.” 

Wait. Why is he so surprised? 

Osamu cracks another egg into a bowl. “Well go on; eat.” He waves a hand, shooing Suna away. Suna goes, still in a bit of daze over the whole thing. He sits cross-legged on the floor and mechanically shovels the eggs into his mouth. They’re good. Really good. As if Osamu would cook anything less than great for him. 

“Oi! Samu! Ya cookin’ those for me?” Atsumu barrels into the kitchen. 

“I ain’t cookin' for you! Cook yer own damn eggs.” 

Atsumu scoffs. “I know ya cooked for Sunarin and yer not gonna cook for me too! Unbelievable!” 

“Why would I cook for ya?” 

“Why would ya cook for Sunarin?” 

Osamu shrugs. “I always cook for Sunarin.” 

Atsumu frowns.

Osamu slides the omelet onto a plate and hands it to Atsumu. “Go sit down and shut up.” 

For once Atsumu doesn’t argue. He accepts the plate with a frown then joins Suna on the floor. 

“Can you believe it, Osamu?” Atsumu slings an arm around both Osamu and Suna dragging them into a side hug until they’re all lined up in a neat, squished row. “They grow up so fast. Just yesterday he was a freshman, the new kid in school-”

“We were all the new kids in school-” 

“-and now here we are, dropping him off in the big city. Leaving him behind to fend for himself,” Atsumu wipes a fake tear. Osamu elbows him in the gut sending him crashing further into Suna’s side. They wobble. The three of them threaten to fall over in the middle of the train station but Suna pushes back and rights them again. He and Osamu try to break away, but Atsumu holds on, steadfast. 

“Not so fast there.” He lets go of Osamu to reach into his pocket. “We gotta take a picture before we go.” 

Atsumu takes a selfie of the three of them. Then another one. And another one. When Atsumu finally lets go of them to look at the phone, Osamu and Suna each take a big step to the side, grateful to have a bit of space to themselves again. 

“This one looks great. Okay, now you two squish together!” he coos. “Look like you like each other.” Suna blanches. Leave it to Atsumu to know exactly what buttons to press. 

Suna and Osamu share a look. Then, Suna slings an arm around Osamu’s shoulder and drags him in until they are pressed together from hip to shoulder. 

Atsumu smiles, holding up the phone. He takes one then another and another.

“Tsumu,” Osamu says after the fourth one. “We gotta train to catch.” 

Atsumu frowns and checks the time. He sighs. 

“I’m gonna miss yer ugly mug,” Atsumu says, punching Suna lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger.” 

“Relax, Atsumu,” Suna says. “I have unlimited texting. Don’t make it sound like I’m dying.” 

Atsumu shrugs. “Whatever. Won’t be the same.” 

It won’t be. They won’t eat lunch together anymore. Or walk home from school in the afternoon together. 

Suna and Atsumu will surely play on the same court again, but the next time they see each other it will probably be from opposite sides of the net. Suna wants badly to say it again; that it’s no big deal. Maybe if he says it out loud enough times that will make it true. But the truth is: he doesn’t know what the future holds. 

He doesn’t know if he and Atsumu will still be friends or if he and Osamu will drift apart. It leaves Suna feeling kind of queasy when he thinks about it for too long. So he doesn’t think about it. He pushes it down, down, down to deal with another day, then drags Atsumu and Osamu, his best friends, in for one last hug. 

“You better run,” he says with a smile when they let go. “I’ll see you guys soon.” 

He hopes he’s right. 


	4. true friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakusa navigates university and his new friendship with Miya Atsumu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, i lived.

In some ways, university feels no different than high school. Kiyoomi wakes up and shuffles through his morning routine bleary-eyed until he’s had his first cup of coffee. Then, he sits down to review his notes and/or scroll through Twitter for the following half an hour. After breakfast, he goes to class and, after that, he heads to volleyball. 

At the same time, university is an entirely different beast. The time slots on his Google calendar look the same as they did in high school: volleyball, math, Japanese, history, dinner. But there’s an ambiguity to them that didn’t exist before. Half of his professors don’t take attendance. No one would know if he chose to sleep in one day, not that he would, but it’s an option, and that makes it different in a way that he can’t quite place. Going to school isn’t automatic anymore. It’s a decision. He wants to go school. He decided to go to college over trying out for professional teams right off the bat for a reason. 

He spends the first few weeks of university learning his way around campus, getting to know the guys on the men’s volleyball team, and eating alone in the dining hall. There are plenty of people Kiyoomi could grab food with, but he isn’t keen on answering to someone else’s schedule, not when his own is full enough. 

More often than not, Kiyoomi finds himself eating alone. It’s not a big deal—there will be plenty of time for making friends once he nails down the most efficient path between the math building and his dorm, and has mastered the art of grabbing the library table that’s tucked perfectly in between a corner and a window. On the days that he fails to claim the table, he heads off campus to his favorite coffee shop. He grabs his ~~second~~ third cup of coffee and powers through whatever homework he’s artfully been avoiding that week. 

Like today, _his_ table at the library is occupied by four people in a heated debate over a group project. He _really_ needs to finish the practice problems due for his statistics class because the test is _this week,_ and he’s a dumbass who put it off until the last second. So, the coffee shop it is. 

He is no more than a block away when he spots a familiar face in the passing crowd, Suna Rintarou, the scary middle blocker from Inarizaki. Suna is all but fuming, marching down the sidewalk and furiously tapping on his phone. Even if Kiyoomi was better acquainted with him, he would undoubtedly steer clear of him right now. If Suna notices him, he doesn’t say anything either. 

It shouldn't come as a surprise when pushes open the cafe door to find another Inarizaki grad sitting right in the middle of the shop. He doesn’t know what compelled him to buy Miya a cup of tea and later give him his _number -_ okay, he does. He's a sucker for a cute dog, and Miya looked like a lone kicked puppy, staring at a lukewarm cup of coffee.

It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together after witnessing Suna Rintarou’s angry strut down the sidewalk and Atsumu’s lost expression. Though he didn’t understand at the time, it was obvious _something_ had gone down between them. And, because Kiyoomi has no sense of self-preservation, he bought Miya a cup of tea and now they’re _friends?_ At least he thinks they are. If they aren’t, it’s going to make the call he’s about to make even worse than it already is.

Kiyoomi would like to formally apologize to any and all gods that he may or may not have pissed off in a former life. He has seen the error of his ways and will be sure to never commit such transgressions, whatever they may be, again. He will do anything short of quitting volleyball to ensure he never witnesses that again. Ugh, he would wash his eyes out with bleach if it meant he could unsee _that._

A heads up would have been nice. Who in their right mind would willingly subject themselves to walking in on their roommate fucking the girl he’s been mooning over in his chemistry class? It is a small solace that maybe now he won’t have to listen to his roommate go on and on about her. He groans. No, it’s probably going to be exponentially worse. But he can’t process that right now because he is too busy shoving down the image of walking in on his roommate in the first place. 

It’s with great consideration that Kiyoomi opens his phone and dials Miya, fingers crossed that he isn’t busy. While it pains him to give Atsumu the ammo to make fun of him over this for all eternity, that fate is preferable to ringing up one of the guys on the volleyball team and opening the opportunity to roast him on the daily. It’s a lose-lose scenario, but one of these fates is discernibly worse than the other.

Miya, to his relief, answers on the second ring. Once he’s done laughing, he assures Kiyoomi that he is more than welcome to hide out at his apartment for the day. 

Objectively, Kiyoomi knew that there was a chance he would see Osamu. Afterall, he and Atsumu _do_ live together, as eloquently described by Miya, in a shitty apartment in a quiet neighborhood in Osaka. Kiyoomi, therefore, shouldn’t be surprised when it’s Osamu who swings open the door upon his arrival at the Miya residence. It is a small comfort that Osamu doesn’t seem surprised to see him standing on their doorstep at 11:42am on a Tuesday. 

“Yo,” Osamu says, moving out of the doorway and gesturing to Kiyoomi to come inside. “Tsumu said ya were headin’ over.” 

Sakusa grimaces and nods while slipping off his shoes in the genkan.

Osamu disappears down the hallway, and Kiyoomi realizes that he doesn’t know what to do now that Osamu is gone and Atsumu is nowhere to be found. Kiyoomi stands there, frozen and unsure, until Osamu pops his head back around the corner. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to lose track of ya there. Are ya comin’? Tsumu is trippin’ over himself tryin’ to look good or somethin’. Ya might as well come hang out with me in the kitchen until he’s done panickin’ over his hair or whatever.” 

Kiyoomi doesn’t know what to make of that so he nods, throws his coat up on the rack, and follows Osamu down the hall—

—and into the biggest disaster zone he’s ever seen. A rice cooker sits neatly on a section of the counter, but every other surface is filled up with plates of half formed onigiri and stacks of paperwork and books. A laptop blaring—Kiyoomi squints at the screen— _Bamboleo 10hr loop_ is perched haphazardly on top of a stack of cookbooks, and _Business Intelligence for Dummies._ Kiyoomi’s fingers itch to straighten the stack or grab the laptop before it goes crashing to the floor. 

He’s no longer standing in the entryway, desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings, but that doesn’t mean he has any more idea what he’s supposed to do now. Osamu shuts the laptop and, to Kiyoomi’s relief, pushes it away from the edge of the counter before scooping rice out of the cooker. Kiyoomi wrings his hands, his eyes wandering and taking in the room. 

Despite the mess, shitty isn’t the word Kiyoomi would use to describe it. It’s exactly what he would expect of an apartment occupied by two 19 year olds. It’s messy, but not dirty. Small, but homey. 

An eclectic mix of magnets pin an equally eclectic array of photos to the fridge. There are a few of the Inarizaki volleyball team. One from Miya’s year as a captain and two from what must be their second year if Kiyoomi is remembering correctly. Above, there is a photo of Osamu and Atsumu as kids decked out in rain gear. Osamu is in a bright pink Kirby raincoat and Atsumu wears an equally bright green froggy jacket. They’re splattered with mud from head to toe, and Atsumu has an arm thrown around Osamu’s shoulder. Between Atsumu’s wide grin and Osamu’s little peace sign, it’s sort of adorable. 

The rest of the fridge is covered in photos of who Kiyoomi assumes are their friends and family. He recognizes a few faces from the Inarizaki volleyball team, but for every face he recognizes there are at least 3 more that he’s never seen before. 

“Ya like ‘em?” Osamu says without turning around. 

“You have a lot of photos.” He cringes. What kind of answer was that?

“Tsumu likes photos. He’d probably wallpaper the apartment in them if I didn’t stop him.” 

“That’s,” he hesitates, “surprising.” 

Osamu huffs a laugh and says, “Is it?” 

Kiyoomi realizes he doesn’t know how to answer that. 

“What brings ya around here?” 

“Atsumu didn’t tell you?” He braces himself for a round of teasing. Somewhere, deep, deep down even he can admit that it’s kind of funny. Eventually. Maybe. Once he’s washed his eyes out with bleach, perhaps. 

Osamu gently presses in the center of the onigiri. “Nah, he was too busy rushing off to fix his hair and change.”

Kiyoomi wrinkles his nose. Miya’s absurd obsession with vanity isn’t one he fully understands. “Why?” 

Osamu snorts and says, “Hell if I know.” Despite his words, Kiyoomi is left with the impression that Osamu very much _does_ know, but won’t be divulging that information. 

Kiyoomi will be the first to admit that he isn’t much of a conversationalist. Since beginning university he’s made a conscious effort to get better at talking or whatever. He doesn’t have Motoya around anymore to clean up his verbal messes.He likes to think he’s made _some_ improvements, but that means asking the juice bar cashier how their day is going. Not making small talk with a... former high school rival? Brother of a friend? Acquaintance? 

He doesn’t know much about Osamu. He’s Atsumu’s brother. He was a wing spiker-- a good one—in high school. He rattles his brain trying to remember the little facts Atsumu has offhandedly mentioned about his brother over the past few months. He’s not pursuing volleyball professionally. Fuck, he knows Atsumu mentioned it to him more than once. 

Kiyoomi glances around the room. Each second that passes in silence weighs him down more and more as he tries to think of something, anything, to say. He eyes the stack of books _Business Intelligence for Dummies_ then glances back at Osamu scooping another spoonful of rice from the cooker. It clicks.

“Onigiri!” His momentary triumph is overshadowed by embarrassment of just blurting something out like that. 

Osamu hand’s still and he cranes his head to look at Kiyoomi, amusement in his eyes. “Got it in one. I am making onigiri.” Osamu looks at the half-formed onigiri in his hand. “Give me a sec.” 

Kiyoomi nods, too afraid he’ll say something stupid and embarrass himself again if he opens his mouth. Osamu finishes shaping and filling the onigiri then holds it toward Kiyoomi.

“Go on.” He shakes the onigiri once. “New recipe. Yer the first to try it. Let me know what ya think.”

Kiyoomi takes the onigiri and bites into it. 

It’s good. He opens his mouth to say as much, but he’s interrupted from his train of thought by a muffled shout and crash from the hallway.

Osamu doesn’t so much as flinch as he continues to carefully shape the rice in his hands. Kiyoomi blinks. Should he investigate? Or—

“Samu! How do I—?”

Atsumu slides into the kitchen, bypassing Kiyoomi entirely, and skidding to a halt in the middle of the room.

“Wait, Samu, what the fuck? I thought ya said ya were going to take a break?” 

Osamu waves him off. “I _am_ takin’ a break.”

Atsumu puts a hand on his hip and pinches the bridge of his nose. “In what world is _this_ a break?” He gestures to the mess around the kitchen. 

“I worked on the business plan all mornin’. Messin’ around with recipes ain’t half as difficult as that damn business plan.” 

Atsumu groans and tosses his hands into the air in defeat. “Ya need to do somethin’ that ain’t related to the damn restaurant or yer gonna lose yer mind one of these days. If ya haven’t already!”

“I’ll rest when it’s done.” Osamu forms another onigiri in his hands. “And not a moment before then.” 

“Or until I knock ya out,” Atsumu mutters with a grimace .

“Good luck with that,” Osamu says, mouth screwed up in concentration as he scoops out another spoonful of rice and kneads it in his hand. 

One minute Atsumu is in the middle of the kitchen and in the next he’s next to Osamu, knocking the half formed rice ball out of his hands. It lands with a plop at Kiyoomi’s feet. 

Atsumu looks from the rice to Kiyoomi’s feet, his gaze slowly drifting upward until he reaches his face. From the look on his face, it is obvious Atsumu hadn’t noticed Kiyoomi was here. Atsumu opens his mouth, presumably to make a joke only he’ll find funny, but he’s thwarted by Osamu tackling him from behind. 

“Argh! Samu!” 

“What _the hell,_ Tsumu?”

Osamu pins Atsumu to the floor, his knee digging into his back, but Atsumu is still fighting and wriggling under Osamu’s grip. He pounds a fist on the floor. “Yer gonna work yerself to death!” 

“Quit bein’ so dramatic! That ain’t gonna happen. I’ll stop just as soon as the business plan is done and I have 10 unique variations of onigiri to offer to the good people of Osaka.” 

Atsumu growls. “Get off me! I’m just tryin’ to help.” 

“I don’t need yer help.” Osamu trades the knee pressing into his back for sitting on Atsumu like he’s an armchair purchased at the thrift store on half-off day. 

Atsumu huffs and stops squirming. 

Kiyoomi is the baby of the family. He was coddled, cooed after, and was only tackled by his sister one time when he stole her diary right out from under her nose. She won that round, but he snuck back in after she left and read it anyway. There wasn’t even anything good in it. At least, not to an 8 year old boy. 

He and Motoya had their fair share of arguments that ended in a wrestling match on the floor, but never in front of company. Not to mention, Kiyoomi can’t remember the last time he and Motoya actually fought over something. Maybe when they were 16? 17? 

This is a whole new level. The longer Kiyoomi watches, the less it appears to be a wrestling match. In his own family, this sort of thing would be discussed quietly and privately if discussed at all. It isn’t that they don’t care or don’t love each other. They aren’t as quick to bring it up, preferring to wait for the problem to solve itself before intervening or opening up an open and honest conversation. In his family, they love passively. 

Atsumu loves loudly. Even Motoya, the most obnoxious loud bastard he knows, doesn’t love as loudly as Miya Atsumu. He’s certainly never tackled Kiyoomi to the floor to show it. He wonders if he should try to back away slowly and let them work out whatever is going on here, but before he can Osamu rolls off of Atsumu’s back and Atsumu pops up off the ground. 

“Oh hey, Omi-kun,” Atsumu dusts himself off. “I gotta pick something up from the pharmacy a few streets over. Walk with me?” 

Kiyoomi agrees without thinking about it.

Atsumu claps his hands together once and says, “Great! Let’s get goin—wait—!” Atsumu grabs a pill bottle off the counter and tosses it over his shoulder to Osamu. Don’t forget yer meds again, asshole. Yer already a mess enough with ‘em. And ya better not be doin’ anything related to the damn restaurant when we get back or I’m duct taping ya to the couch! I’ll get Omi-kun to help me!” 

“Whatever,” Osamu mutters.

“Remember what Kita-san says. _We are build upon the small things—”_

 _“I do every day, and the end results are no more than a product of that._ Yeah, yeah. I know. Get out of here, scrub. I’m tired of lookin’ at ya.” 

Kiyoomi follows Miya out the front door but stops himself just in time from colliding with him when Miya stops suddenly outside the apartment. 

"Oh, hold up," he pulls his phone from his coat pocket. "Let me text Sunarin before I forget." 

_Pls_ , _call Samu before he works himself to death. Love u, u ugly mf, thx._ He flips the phone around to show Kiyoomi before pocketing it again. "Alrighty, let's get rollin'." 

Walking to the pharmacy with Miya Atsumu, brushing hands, elbows, and shoulders, is _not_ how he expected to spend his day. He was supposed to work on his assignment for Sociology 110: write a short paper on love languages or something.

Despite living in the same city, he hasn’t actually seen Atsumu since that night he showed up at his dorm room. That’s not to say they haven’t talked. It’s rare that a day goes by without a half intelligible text or ridiculous, vain mirror selfie from Atsumu. And he can finally admit that he’s grown quite fond of the cute dog pictures that Atsumu spots on his morning runs that accompany a good morning text. 

And the mirror selfies, no matter what dumb expression Atsumu is sporting--and there are a lot of them--aren’t half bad either. He will admit that over his dead body and not a moment before. So what if Miya’s core muscles are divine enough to sink his teeth into or that no marble statue on display in museums across the world can rival the curve of Miya’s as-

-and that’s enough of that. The less he thinks of Miya’s, uh… The less he thinks about _Miya,_ the better.

But that’s tough, considering he’s walking next to him. On the court, Miya moves with assurance and grace. On the street, however, Miya can’t walk in a straight line to save his life. Every third step, Miya’s shoulder bumps his own. After the 5th time, he’s starting to wonder if it’s intentional or not. 

“So, tell me, Omi-kun, what’s college life like? Do you run a frat? Are ya the life of the party? Ooh, Omi-kun, please tell me you did a keg stand.” 

Kiyoomi brows furrow together, and the corners of his lips turn down. He gives Miya a little shove in the side with his shoulder. “There are no frats. Stop watching American movies to learn about college life.” 

“I bet yer just saying that because ya can’t do a keg stand.” 

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath through his nose and wills himself for the strength to not fall for the obvious bait. 

“I bet I’d be the keg stand champion. Gotta have strength _and_ balance for that, and I have plenty of both. Yer strong Omi-kun but,” he looks at Kiyoomi, “yer balance could use some work.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” 

Kiyoomi steals a glance at Atsumu’s arms, but is met with the thick layers of Atsumsu’s coat. Kiyoomi doesn’t need to look under the coat to know Atsumu is strong. He’s a professional athlete after all. Yeah, Atsumu probably would be good at a keg stand.

“Hmm. I don’t know, Omi-kun. You tell me. Yer the one who can’t do a keg stand.”

“I could do a keg stand.” He cringes. Dammit. 

“Hah! I didn’t think ya would fall for the bait!” 

Kiyoomi sighs. 

“Ah, relax, Omi-kun. It was just a joke.” 

Atsumu bumps his shoulder for the fifth time in as many minutes. “What’s it like balancing school and volleyball? Is it hard?” 

The question catches Kiyoomi off guard. “Some days are more stressful than others. But I’m starting to get the hang of it.” 

“That’s reassuring to hear. I wanna take a few classes sometime, but I don’t know.” 

That _really_ catches him off guard. He supposes he’s never actually asked, but he’s always assumed Atsumu chose the professional path and didn’t look back. 

“You should.” 

Atsumu smiles and something funny flickers annoyingly in his stomach. “Hmm, maybe I will. Once I’m a little more settled. Samu and I are still unpacking the apartment, and, between making sure he doesn’t burn himself out and the Jackals, I don’t have much time left. But eventually. Hopefully soon.” 

“What are you interested in? What would you take?”

Miya doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Accounting.” 

“That is...not what I was expecting you to say.” 

Atsumu grins, crooked. “Did ya think I’m just a pretty face?” 

“What?” Kiyoomi reels back, afraid he’s accidentally crossed some kind of line and insulted Miya. 

“Relax, Omi-kun,” Miya puts a hand on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “I’m just kidding. Anyway, I’ve seen Samu’s grades in math. And I gotta be ready if, and by ‘if’ I mean ‘when,’ the restaurant opens. _Someone_ is going to have to balance the checkbook. Not to mention, I am 99% sure he hasn’t even heard of taxes! Ya can’t run a restaurant without knowin’ how to do _taxes._ As of now, my knowledge of taxes doesn’t extend much past my personal ones so gotta learn somehow.” He pauses. “Or, I dunno, maybe something bitchin like the history of swords. Who knows?” 

Kiyoomi huffs a laugh. “History of swords? Where do you come up with these ideas?”

Atsumu grins, wide and bright. “Hell if I know but ya gotta admit: it’s a cool idea.” 

“Sure, whatever.” 

“Gotta say, Omi-kun: this worked out perfectly.” 

“Huh?” 

Atsumu side eyes him. “You walkin in on yer roommate gettin’ down to business. Then I would have had to walk to the pharmacy by myself, and what fun is that?”

“Please don’t remind me. I’m still in shock over the whole thing.” 

“Ya said college life isn’t an American movie, but that sounds like a pretty damn funny comedy to me.” 

“Miya, please, I am begging—” He realizes his mistake the moment the word has left his mouth.

Atsumu waggles his eyebrows. “Beggin’ for what?” 

“I hate you.”

Atsumu throws his head back, laughing. “Sure ya do.” 

Here’s the problem with telling Atsumu all of this. It’s not that Atsumu will tease him for all eternity, because _he will._ It’s that now he and Atsumu have had a conversation _about sex._ Sex. S-E-X. 

Sex and Miya Atsumu are two ideas he wants to keep far away from each other and neatly filed in two opposite corners of his brain. But now Atsumu is right in front of him, bowled over, hands on his knees, and laughing at Sakusa’s unfortunate run-in with his roommate and the girl he met in chem.

It is no small relief when they come to a stop in front of the pharmacy. Kiyoomi waits in the front to give Atsumu some privacy. They are at a _pharmacy,_ after all. 

The door opens and Miya returns, blinking to adjust to the bright sun. “Ya know, you could have come in with me.”

“Oh, uh, well, it’s the pharmacy. I didn’t want to intrude if you had something, um, personal to pick up.” 

Atsumu laughs with his entire body, throws his head back and damn near giggles. It’s not adorable. _It’s not._ “Yer a real gentleman, Omi-kun. What did ya think I had to pick up? Condoms? Lube?”

Kiyoomi’s entire face goes red. He’s already had one tragic encounter involving sex today. He’s not ready to deal with another one. “I meant more like pills to fix your horrendous sense of humor but, sure, condoms.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I got those, too.” He rifles through the bag, emerging victorious with a little pill bottle in hand. “Ya think this sparklin’ personality is all natural? Nah, I got a little help from the ADHD meds.” 

“You and Osamu?” 

Atsumu side eyes him, his shoulders turn inward slightly, defensive. “Samu?” 

Kiyoomi scratches the back of his head and rapidly replays the conversations he had with both Osamu and Atsumu, trying to determine if and where he overstepped a boundary. “Before you came into the kitchen, he mentioned, uh—” 

“Oh, Samu told you.” 

Kiyoomi nods.

“Ya can relax, Omi-kun. I’m not gonna bite ya,” Atsumu laughs. “Samu just doesn’t usually like tellin’ people about it. I was surprised. I don’t mind tellin’ people, though.” 

Atsumu rifles through the bag. “And that’s not the only thing I got.” He pulls out an envelope. “These are what we’re really here for.” 

He stops next to Kiyoomi and shuffles something in his hands. “Hell yeah. These turned out amazing.”

Kiyoomi peeks over Atsumu’s shoulder. The photo on top is a selfie with Miya, Osamu, and Suna Rintarou. Their smiles are wide and genuine, but something about the photo seems a bit _off._ He can’t put a finger on what though. It’s like there is something hiding under all their smiles that they’d rather not acknowledge. 

“When were these taken?”

“Huh—oh, a couple of months ago now? Or a little over that? Sunarin needed help movin’ into his new place in Shizuoka so Samu and I went along to help. Took these at the train station just before Samu and I headed home. It took me a little longer than I wanted to get them printed though.”

He flips to the next photo. This one features only Osamu and Suna. They’re smiles aren’t as wide, but this photo doesn’t radiate the same _off_ feeling that the other did. This one is calmer, softer maybe. Relaxed like they’re where they’re meant to be. 

The last time he heard much about Suna Rintarou, he and Miya were in a fight that left Suna storming down the street and Miya knocking on his door late in the evening. 

“So you worked it out, then?” Miya never told him how it turned out when he returned to his hotel that evening and Kiyoomi never asked. “You and Suna, I mean.” 

Miya turns to him and shoots him a million watt smile. “Oh, yeah, we did!” He scratches his head. “I can’t remember the speech I hit him with that well, but I admitted I was an asshole and then we watched Naruto. No harm, no foul.” 

“That’s good. I’m glad.” 

Kiyoomi wonders if it was really that easy. It’s been months since then so maybe it’s easy to brush off now, but there was a reason why he never asked Miya how the conversation turned out. From what Miya had said, Kiyoomi wasn’t convinced it was going to go well and Kiyoomi has never been very good at providing solace. He barely knew how to help Miya in the first place. 

Atsumu shoves the photos back in the envelope as they start walking back toward home. 

“What are you going to do with them? The pictures, I mean.” 

“Two are getting mailed to Suna, but first I gotta find a frame for them. That boy wouldn’t know a home decoration if it hit him in the face. I printed one of Suna and Samu for Samu’s room. And another of the three of us to put up on the fridge.” 

Kiyoomi isn’t sure why he’s surprised. He saw all the photos tacked to the fridge not even an hour ago.

Kiyoomi hums. “Sappy.” 

“Sure am,” Atsumu says, turning to face him. “And damn proud of it. Oh, that reminds me. Ya know, we’re going to an EJP game next weekend. EJP versus the Red Falcons. Thought maybe ya might want to come.” He rubs the back of his neck. Nervous. 

The annoying fluttering feeling is back. This time it takes up residence in his chest. 

“It won’t just be us. Don’t get me wrong. Kita and Samu are comin’. I thought, since yer cousin was on the team, maybe you would like to come. But ya—”

“I’ll go,” Kiyoomi says, cutting Atsumu off and surprising himself. 

If Kiyoomi thought Atsumu was only capable of loving and caring loudly—case in point, the wrestling match between Atsumu and Osamu right in the middle of the kitchen—then he is wrong. Atsumu can love quietly, too. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t know much about love languages, and he’s not entirely convinced that they aren’t bogus. But, one thing is clear: for every moment Atsumu loves loudly—wrestling his brother or starting a fight with Suna Rintarou—there is another where he loves softly, quietly. It’s almost too easy to miss. But it’s there in a paper envelope full of photos, in an invitation for Kiyoomi to hide out at his apartment without hesitation, and in a bashful invite to a volleyball game. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u nat for comma duty <3
> 
> thank u togaki for all the workshopping and brainstorming <3
> 
> thank u memento hippori and sunaosa gay for yellin <3


	5. make some noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EJP v. Red Falcons let's goooo

“Are ya ready?” Atsumu asks while slipping on his jacket. 

“Huh?” Osamu pushes the hair out of his face. His neck aches from hours spent bent over a textbook.

“Ya forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Osamu looks back down at his notes. He has to finish this paperwork so he can start looking for interested investors. In an ideal world, this part of the restaurant business will go swiftly. If it does then he’ll still be able to hit his original goal and open the restaurant or, at the very least, the stand next year. 

Atsumu sighs and it grates on Osamu’s nerves. 

“ _The game._ You know, EJP vs. Red Falcons in Shizuoka? You, me, Omi-kun, Kita, Bokkun, and Akaashi? We have a train to catch. We gotta go.” 

Fuck. How the fuck did he forget about the EJP and Falcons game? He’s been looking forward to this for weeks. He hasn’t seen Suna in months, hasn’t seen Aran in longer. Fuck. What kind of friend forgets that. 

“I forgot about the EJP game,” he says more to himself than anyone else. 

“No shit.”

“Dammit. This is the third time I’ve done something like this during this week alone.” Osamu’s hands clench into fists and he fights the urge to smack the table. “How much time do I have?” 

Atsumu’s expression softens. “Don’t worry about it, Samu. It ain’t that deep. Hurry up. Omi-kun will be here any minute and Kita-san’s meeting us at the station.”

Osamu is really fucking tired. If the coffee he’s downing at 5pm isn’t proof enough, then the circles under his eyes are. This past week has been rough between working the closing shift at a little hole in the wall joint near home and splitting his daytime hours between perfecting his recipes and sifting through the mountains of paperwork that go into opening a business. 

Even on his nights off, he can’t remember the last time he slept longer than five hours in a row. If the work doesn’t keep him awake, then the stress does. 

“Osamu...Osamu... _Osamu.”_

“Wah-huh?” 

Kita is looking at him, half amused and half unimpressed. “ _I asked_ if ya feel alright. You don’t look so good.” 

“Oh, me? Yeah, I’m good.” A lie. 

Kita frowns. “If yer gonna lie, ya could at least put a little more effort into it. Are ya gettin’ enough sleep?” 

“‘Course.” Another lie. 

Kita’s eyes narrow and look between the coffee cup and Osamu’s face. “Is that why yer drinkin’ coffee at 5:17 in the evening?” 

Osamu eyes the to-go cup in his hand. Traitorous scum. Yes, he’s tired but there’s nothing to do about it now other than chug the coffee and keep walking. Besides, the brisk evening air is doing wonders to perk him up or something. 

“Just admit yer tired, Samu. It isn’t that hard.” Atsumu crowds into Osamu’s space and Osamu suppresses the urge to backhand him right here in the middle of Shizuoka City.

“I’m not tired,” he says louder than is strictly necessary. 

“Lies, he’s tellin’ lies.”

“Shut up, Tsumu.” 

“He’s workin’ himself to death! I’ve tried everything but he won’t listen to me. Please, Kita-san, yer our only hope here.” 

“Stop quoting Space Trek,” Osamu growls. 

Atsumu rounds on him. “Excuse me. It’s Star Trek, not Space Trek. And second, that was from Star Wars!” 

Osamu shoves him and he goes hurtling into Sakusa. Osamu had nearly forgotten he was there until now. 

Sakusa and Atsumu stumble and for a brief moment Osamu thinks they’re both going to go careening into the ground but then Sakusa’s arm loops around Atsumu’s waist, the other gripping his shoulder, and halts their momentum. 

“Omi-kun, it looks like I’m fallin’ for ya.” . 

Atsumu freezes, color rising into his cheeks when he realizes what he’s said. Sakusa blinks. 

“Uh, I mean.” 

Sakusa is still holding onto Atsumu like a swooning fair maiden, his own face growing a darker shade of red with each passing moment. 

Osamu snorts. “Are ya gonna kiss or what?”

“Wah—Argh. Samu!” Atsumu all but jumps out of Sakusa’s arms. “Don’t be stupid.” Atsumu’s face, redder now than the ripest summer tomato, might as well be on fire. 

Osamu spares a glance at Sakusa. His face is also aglow with embarrassment but there’s something else there too. He looks...crestfallen? Maybe? 

Interesting. 

Osamu is about to say something and intervene when Kita interrupts the growing circus. 

“Boys—” 

Atsumu jumps out of Sakusa’s arms then stands at attention with Osamu, waiting for Kita to continue. 

“Akaashi and Bokuto are holdin’ our seats for us. It would be rude to keep ‘em waiting.” 

Atsumu and Osamu nod in tandem then follow behind Kita like they’re ducklings and he’s the Mama duck. 

Osamu is in hell. Not just any run-of-the-mill hell. He’s in a hell designed especially for him. With Kita and his all knowing stare sitting behind him, Atsumu and Sakusa doing—well, doing _whatever_ it is they’re doing--on one side and Bokuto and Akaashi being their own brand of weird and disgusting on the other, this is most definitely hell. 

“So these are our seats?” Atsumu says gesturing to the open seat between Osamu and Sakusa. The seat that is very obviously for him. 

Akaashi leans forward in his own seat to peer around Bokuto and Osamu. He looks between Atsumu and the open chair, frowning. “Is there a problem? I thought—” 

“No, of course not. It’s just, uh, are me and Omi-kun supposed to sit next to each other?”

Akaashi blinks. “Yes?”

“Right, right. I’ll just,” Atsumu waves a hand in the air,“I’ll just—“

Witnessing Atsumu flail around, suffering under the weight of his own disaster-hood is fun under most circumstances. This is not one of those times. Sakusa wrings his hands and is pointedly looking anywhere other than at Atsumu. 

Alright, time to shut this down before it becomes an honest to god shitshow. The game is going to start any minute and Osamu would like at least a moment’s peace before it does. He doesn’t even know what Atsumu is panicking over and acting like a little school kid with a crush or like he’s 16 and about to go on his first date, all blushy and unsure. 

It’s a good thing they aren’t on a date because that would be weird as fuck. Who goes on a date with their brother, former team captain, teammate and his boyfriend? Osamu takes pity on his brother and grabs a handful of Atsumu’s jacket and yanks him into the seat. “You invited him! Stop bein’ weird.”

“Wah—” Atsumu points at himself. “Me? Weird?”

Five sets of eyes all turn to look at him at once. The ‘ _are you kidding us?’_ is silent. 

Osamu wants to bang his head on the table. “Yer the biggest disaster I have ever had the misfortune of watching unfold. Now sit down, make some friendly conversation and have a good time. It’s not that deep.” 

Atsumu opens his mouth ready to throw down and undoubtedly start another fight but Osamu cuts him off before he can. “Nope, the game's about to start. Talking hours are over.” 

Atsumu is supposed to watch the game. He’s supposed to scope out the competition and cheer on his old teammates. That’s the whole reason he planned this little trip and coerced everyone into coming along. He didn't account for the fact that Sakusa Kiyoomi would be sitting _right_ next to him and just how distracting that would be. For two near 6 foot men, these seats are tiny. Every time he manages to get absorbed into the game, a simple bump of their elbows or brush of their shoulders is there to remind him of just who he is sitting next to again. 

And then—And _then_ —Atsumu shifts his weight forward so he can rest his elbows on his knees but when he does his thigh brushes against Sakusa’s and he jumps. Sakusa snorts and Atsumu looks like he would rather a hole open in the middle of the floor and swallow him whole.

If only it ended there. But no, Atsumu gives everything his all, and that includes embarrassing himself. 

“Well folks it’s anyone’s game now. What do you think, Dick?” 

“With the first set going to the Raijins and the second to the Falcons, it’s tough to say who is going to come out on top today.” 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Alright folks, we’ve got a few minutes here before we’re getting started on our final set of the evening. We’ll see you shortly.” 

Kita stands and stretches his arms over his head. “I’m thinkin’ about grabbing something to drink in between games. It sure is hot in here, don’t ya think, Atsumu?” 

Atsumu, who for the past five minutes had done nothing but stare at Sakusa nods without taking his eyes off of him. “He sure is,” he sighs dreamily before sitting up, his back ramrod straight.

Akaashi hides a laugh in his hand. Osamu snorts 

“I mean,” Atsumu stammers, “ _it_ is. _IT_ is hot in _here_.”

“Wait,” Bokuto perks up, leaning over Akaashi and into Osamu’s space. “You mean like a fever? Are you sick Sakusa-kun?” He gasps. “What are you supposed to do for a fever? Should we call a cab? Should we go to the pharmacy? Do you need anything, Sakusa-kun?”

While Bokuto’s rambling continues in an unending loop, Atsumu sinks further and further into his seat with each words, his face growing redder with each passing second.

Over Bokuto’s shoulder, Osamu catches Akaashi’s eye. A silent conversation passes between them.

Akaashi quirks a brow. _Should I stop him?_

Osamu shrugs. _Nah, let Atsumu sweat._

Sitting through an EJP vs Raijins game is whiplash. Atsumu can’t figure out who he should be rooting for or if he should be rooting for anyone at all. After all, just because he isn’t on the court today, that doesn’t mean they aren’t his competition for another day. 

When Suna is subbed in, it’s clear there’s only one team Osamu is rooting for. Osamu couldn’t peel his eyes off of Suna if his life depended on it. Atsumu wants to hurl. Osamu says they’re fine—That he and Suna are friends and they’re both content with being friends. Osamu and Suna can say whatever they want but it means nothing when they’re still so obviously hung up on each other. 

But Atsumu learned his lesson and promised Suna he wouldn’t meddle anymore. Even if he hadn’t promised, Atsumu wouldn’t do it. The look on Suna’s face that day in the hotel room was enough to convince him that this isn’t something he can help them workout no matter how badly he might want to.

Does he think they’re being stupid about this whole thing? Absolutely. Would this all be solved if either Suna or Osamu had even a lick of emotional intelligence? Yep. But, alas, nothing is ever so simple and neither Suna or Osamu have the emotional intelligence brain cell. And so Atsumu suffers.

In the past few months, Osamu has played volleyball on the occasional weekend with Atsumu and whoever is around. He’s attended a game or two in the past few months, but, regardless, he nearly forgot how graceful volleyball can be. How utterly mesmerizing volleyball is to watch. It’s a totally different experience to view from the sidelines rather than to be in the middle of the action or even watching from the sidelines. 

It’s the Falcon’s setter with the serve and it’s over the net. The ball flies with a speed and accuracy that none of Osamu’s former career in high school volleyball could have prepared him for. EJP’s starting libero, Kato or something, squats low. The ball rebounds off his forearms, rocketing back into the air. 

It’s high, giving EJP’s setter plenty of time to reach the ball before sending it back into the air effortlessly. He calls for Washio, the middle blocker who graduated from Fukurodani. He jumps, a satisfying smack ringing through the air as the ball connects with his palm. The ball slams into the ground at the same time that Washio lands back on the floor. 

It’s a point for EJP. They pull ahead of the Red Falcons for the first time during the match. It should be followed by a quick moment of celebration but as the ball hits the floor, so does Washio, his ankle twisting beneath him before giving out entirely. He crumbles to the ground with a hiss. The setter, who only a moment earlier had been reaching out to give him a congratulatory high five, drops down beside him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

Osamu cringes. An ankle should not twist like that. 

Bokuto gasps at the same time that Akaashi mutters an, “Oh no,” almost too quiet to be heard. 

A medic rushes over, gives the ankle a quick look over, then nods once. The setter slips his arms underneath the Washio armpits and carefully hauls him up. Another player runs over, supporting the blocker’s other side. Together, they help him hobble off the floor to the bench.

“Ah fuck,” Atsumu says. “Do ya think he’s gonna be okay?” 

“I’m sure they have a great physical therapist,” Sakusa says. “If it’s a run of the mill sprain, he’ll be okay. They’ll take care of him.” 

Bokuto leans forward to the edge of his seat. “That’s true. We have a great physical therapist for the Black Jackals. When Meian sprained an ankle last season, he healed up super quick.” 

“Nothing to fear folks,” the announcer says. “We’ve been informed that Washio is going to be okay after a little TLC.”

“What a relief,” says the other. 

“You can say that again, Bob. You can say that again.” 

Osamu is too caught up in the drama on the court to notice who the coach had called up in Washio’s place until Washio is being led away with the medics. 

It’s Suna. 

He stands on the side of the court, mouth pressed into a thin line and hands balled into fists at his sides. Osamu is reminded of a conversation they had in the middle of the night over Skype a few weeks ago. 

Suna hadn’t been able to sleep and Osamu was up still cleaning the kitchen from his latest culinary venture. 

_“Are ya nervous about yer first professional Division 1 game?”_

_“Why would I be scared? I’m not a starter. I probably won’t even play.”_

_“And what if ya do play? Ya know, Tsumu played a set during his first game.”_

_Even through the tiny screen Osamu could see Suna roll his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know. As if he’d ever let us forget that he’s Mr. Bigshot, star of the men’s V League Division 1.”_

_“So...?_

_“So_ — _what?”_

_“Are ya gonna be nervous to play in yer first game?”_

_Suna’s mouth stretched into a lazy smile and Osamu ignored the soft fluttering in his chest_ — _he was doing that a lot lately._

_“Me?” Suna said. “Never.”_

It was as much a lie then as it is now. Even then they both knew it. 

“Oh shit,” Atsumu says, leaning forward in his seat. “They’re putting him in.” 

Suna is nervous. Osamu can see it in the line of his shoulders, in the way he’s holding himself. 

Osamu doesn’t realize he said it aloud until Bokuto says, “Huh? He doesn’t look nervous.” 

Osamu hums. If it were anyone other than Suna Rintarou down there, then Osamu would agree. But it isn’t anyone. It’s his friend and he knows him like he knows the back of his hand. Probably better. He’s spent a lot more time watching Suna Rintarou than he has looking at the back of his hand.

“Nah, he’s nervous.” Osamu shakes his head. “Look at him, he doesn’t look like himself at all.” 

Atsumu hums and Osamu wonders if he can see it too. He should be able to, as Suna’s self-proclaimed best friend. “Yeah, I dunno, Samu, Suna looks pretty confident out there. Look at him--he’s even standin’ up straight for once.” 

Osamu shakes his head. “Who’s yer best friend again?” 

“Sun--ow! Samu!” Atsumu rubs his arm. 

“Don’t be a baby. I didn’t hit ya that hard. Point is yer tryin’ to tell me that there is anything natural about Suna Rintarou standing up straight, not a slouch in sight?” 

Atsumu freezes for half a second, eyes gazing off into the distance like he’s trying to work out a particularly hard math problem in his head. Understanding dawns on Atsumu’s face. 

“Now ya see what I’m sayin’?” 

“Huh. Never thought about it like that I suppose. But, yeah, yer right. Our precious Sunarin might be a little more nervous than he’s lettin’ on.” 

“Oh,” Bokuto says. “That does make sense. Neat trick!!” 

“It’s not a—” Whatever. He’s done with this conversation. “Thanks,” he says instead. “Oh, look at that.” Osamu nods toward the court. “Looks like they’re ready to get started again.” The whistle blows and four seconds later the ball is back in the air. 

There’s nothing different between this game and the other professional Division 1 games Osamu has seen in person. The energy is the same; loud, raucous, and excited. During the first two matches, Osamu was living for the thrill of it all. He felt alive in a way he hadn’t since starting his business course, watching new and familiar faces duke it out with a volleyball as their only weapon. 

But then Suna Rintarou walked onto the court and everything changed. Osamu is in a whole new level of hell. It was one thing to be side by side with Suna Rintarou on a volleyball court. It’s an entirely different experience to _watch_ Suna Rintarou from the stands of a volleyball game.

This shouldn’t be a big deal. He played on the same damn team as Suna Rintarou for three years. How is this, watching him from the sidelines, any different? It doesn’t matter what the reason is because once Suna Rintarou enters the court, he’s all Osamu can see. He can’t even blame the neon yellow monstrosity stretched across his back for pulling his attention to Suna Rintarou and Suna Rintarou only. 

“The game is really coming down to the wire, eh?” 

“You can say that again, Dick. Will the EJP Raijins be able to close the gap and take home a victory over the Tachibana Red Falcons?” 

“It’s anyone’s guess at this point. We have two strong teams on the court tonight.” 

“More like two exhausted teams.”

“That, too, Bob. That, too.” 

“EJP’s Fujita receives the ball. It’s up! And—” 

“Nakamura sets, oh and Ito spikes!” 

The Red Falcon’s libero drops low, one leg bent and the other shooting out to the side. It’s in the air for a brief moment before the setter sends the ball up again and Aran is running up from behind to spike the ball over the net to the Raijins. 

It’s a near perfect play and, for a brief moment, Osamu thinks Aran is going to tie up the game again and take back the one-point-lead the Raijins hold over them, but, quicker than lightning, Suna is there blocking Aran’s path. A showdown between Aran and Suna. Former teammate against former teammate. 

Even from the stands, Osamu can see the faint smirk on Suna’s face as the ball comes down, zooming past Aran and striking the floor on the Falcons side of the net. 

The whistle blows. 

EJP wins. They win and _Suna_ makes the winning point. The arena is silent for a moment then Atsumu, Osamu, and Kita are jumping out of their seats hollering at the top of their lungs for Suna and for EJP. In another second, they are joined by Akaashi, Bokuto, and Sakusa. Everyone claps and cheers with everything they have. The energy of it all flows through Osamu, invigorating him in a way coffee never could. 

And, fuck, he’s so proud. Osamu is so proud of Suna. Proud of him for pushing through his nervousness. Proud of him for getting his head in the game the moment he arrived on court. As Suna’s new team swarms, drowning Suna in good-natured slaps across the back, Osamu swells with pride in Suna. Proud that he followed his dream, sought his own path, and got where he wanted to be. And grateful he got to be here to witness this moment—not only Suna’s first official game but also his first memorable play. 

Osamu wants to grab Suna and hold him close. Show him how fucking proud of him he is. It’s a good thing he’s up here and Suna is down there. Otherwise there would be nothing to stop him from doing something stupid like kissing Suna Rintarou square on the lips in the middle of a crowded arena. 

After the game, Bokuto and Akaashi head off to check in on Washio while the rest of them wait for Komori, Suna, and Aran in the lobby of the sports complex. 

“Ya couldn’t seem to tear yer eyes away from the game, huh, Osamu?” Kita says with a smirk once it’s just the four of them. 

Right. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the game. That was definitely it. There were absolutely no middle blockers involved. 

“Or was it someone ya couldn’t tear yer eyes away from?”

Osamu gapes, floundering for a moment before he gathers his bearings enough to reply. “Have ya seen the uniforms? Who could look away from those neon yellow disasters?”

Kita’s brows lift but he doesn’t say anything else. That would be the end of it if it weren’t for his damn brother poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. 

“Don’t get me wrong. I agree with ya whole-heartedly; those uniforms are absolutely atrocious, but I’d bet ya anything that it wasn’t the jersey that caught yer eye.”

Osamu shoves him and says, “As if you’re any better.”

“I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.” 

Atsumu absolutely knows what he’s talking about. Everyone in the entire damn stadium knows what he’s talking about.

“Sure, sure, Atsumu. Whatever ya say,” Kita says. “Anyway, what did ya think of that middle blocker on the Red Falcons, Ito?” Kita asks. 

“Oh, uh, he was great! Professional teams, you know?” Atsumu says with a wave of the hand. 

Kita smirks. “Are ya sure we watched the same game Atsumu? Cause I just made that name up.”

Color rises to the apples of his cheeks and Atsumu makes a point to look at anything but Kita. “Oh, uh—” 

“If ya weren’t payin’ attention to the game, then what were ya payin’ attention to, Tsumu?” Osamu crows. 

“Ya know,” Kita says looking between them. “I could ask ya the same thing. How much of that last game did ya catch, Osamu?” 

“Wha-what d'ya mean? I was watchin the entire time.” Another lie. 

Kita raises his brows and Osamu starts to sweat under his gaze. “I dunno what yer talkin’ about.” 

He’s saved by Suna, Aran, and Sakusa’s cousin, Komori, appearing by their side. As the newcomers take their places in the group, Osamu makes a point to stand as far away from Suna as he can’t without looking suspicious. The adrenaline rush that came with witnessing Suna’s winning point hasn’t completely worn off yet and he’s not willing to take any chances and embarrass himself here in front of everyone. 

Aran makes a beeline for Kita who is already waiting with open arms. Aran tucks his face into the space between Kita’s neck and shoulder and inhales, utterly lost in the other without any words exchanged between them. Osamu looks away, suddenly feeling like he’s intruding on something private and personal.

It’s sweet. Osamu is happy for them. He is. So, why then is something ugly, and hot forcing its way through his chest. Why is he jealous? 

The moment ends and Kita pulls away from Aran, a soft smile on his face. Osamu’s stomach boils hotter. Ugh. 

“I gotta hand it to ya, Sunarin, yer play there at the end was pretty baller.” Atsumu slaps Suna across the back.

Suna wrinkles his nose at the same time that Osamu says, “Did ya really just say _baller?”_

“Yeah, that’s pretty lame,” Suna says. 

“What if I did?” Atsumu pushes his way into Osamu’s space. 

“Is that really the best ya can come up with?” Osamu pushes up his sleeves, ready to throw down. But, before he gets a word in, Suna pushes his way through the crowd and slaps a hand over his mouth. Osamu is shocked still and it does not go unnoticed, but mercifully no one says anything. 

“Please,” Suna says, “I am exhausted and my phone is dead. The last thing I want is to suffer through another one of your fights without even the reward of getting to record it and hold it over your heads forever. Is there a plan or are we just standing here?” 

It happens so fast. Komori, Sakusa and Atsumu take off in one direction and Aran and Kita are off in another. It isn’t until it’s just Osamu and Suna left standing in the lobby of the stadium that they realize they’re all alone. 

They’ve been played. He’s not sure if he's a winner or a loser though. 


	6. see you again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just two bros hugging it out. nothing to see here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter kept getting longer and I don’t like working with more than 4-5 at a time so 🙃 I split it into two.

There’s a moment, after the rest of their group clears out of the lobby of the arena, when Suna thinks that being alone with Osamu is going to be awkward or weird. That they don’t know how to talk to each other anymore despite literally talking on the phone not two nights ago. That two months apart is too much and that somehow they’ve changed irrevocably. 

Osamu looks at the ground, the walls, the ceiling, anywhere but Suna. And suna can’t blame him or be angry because he’s doing the same thing—avoiding him. It’s easier to avoid Osamu and live in this place of plausible deniability than to forge forward and face the possibility that they’ve changed.

Suna fingers the hem of his shirt, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He hoists his duffle bag higher, lowers it, lifts it again just to keep himself occupied, something to focus on that isn’t this moment, this horribly awkward—and terrifying—moment.

Suna feels as if he’s dangling over the edge of something, like whatever happens next will define much more than just this evening but also their entire friendship. Is he overthinking this? Probably. Does knowing that he’s overthinking it mean he's able to stop? No. Suna thinks, whether he’s overthinking this or not, that it’s unfair that one moment can hold so much power. 

But, more importantly, is Osamu overthinking this weird, scary, potentially life altering moment as much as he is? There has to be a reason why he won’t look at Suna. Suna needs to know why. If he knows why, then maybe he can fix it. Or at the very least they can commiserate together. 

If Osamu won’t say anything then Suna can take matters into his own hands, reach for Osamu and _make_ him look at Suna. Stamp his feet and demand attention like a child. But he’s never had to ask for Osamu’s attention before. Forcing Osamu to pay attention to him through his own doing feels wrong and wouldn’t be half as satisfying. 

He’s going to suffocate in this moment. It’s dragging on too long and something has to give, someone has to yield or— 

It’s not until the cuff of Osamu’s coat is fisted in Suna’s hand that he realizes he’s moved. 

Osamu startles, gaze drifting down to the point of contact between them but he doesn’t jump back or tug his arm away and even though nothing else has been said, Suna already feels a massive wave of relief crash over him. Osamu isn’t running away—which, given a second thought, why would he? That’s not who Osamu is. He's not pulling away and he’s looking _right at_ Suna. He’s looking at Suna and it’s warm and familiar and everything he’s missed over the past two months. 

Suna’s grip on Osamu’s sleeve tightens and he tugs so gently he’s sure it’s nearly imperceptible but Osamu follows the momentum and lets Suna reel him in like he was in on the plan all along. That’s all the reassurance he needs to throw himself against Osamu, wrap his arms around his waist until there is no space between them. Osamu responds in kind. His arms settle around Suna’s lower back and anchor them together.

It’s the kind of hug that lingers, faces tucked into his necks, creating a space that’s all their own. It’s the kind of hug that says _I missed you_ without a single word spoken. The kind of hug that says _welcome home._ The kind of hug that almost—almost—makes up for the two months that have passed with only texts and late night Skype calls that don’t end until one of them falls asleep. 

The rest of the world falls away around them and they might as well no longer be in the arena. He isn’t in the middle of the lobby with the last few spectators and teammates meandering out of the building. They’re in a space created all for them and only for them. 

Suna doesn’t know how long they stand there. It could be 5 minutes. It could be 20. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. They could stay wrapped up in each other, until the cleaning crew turns off the bright, fluorescent overhead lights, and locks the doors and Suna wouldn’t care. Suna has absolutely no shame where Osamu is concerned. 

For a fleeting second, Suna thinks he could exist in this liminal space forever. Except, well, he can’t no matter how much he might like to fantasize about staying in this one moment forever, he can't. He and Osamu made their choices. 

It’s with a twinge in his heart that he reluctantly pulls himself away at last. He stands to his full height and hikes his duffle bag off the floor and over his shoulder. If he doesn’t keep his hands occupied then he might do something stupid like reach out and fall right back in.

His knuckles turn white under the strain but he can’t relax, not when a stupid duffle bag is the only thing keeping him from doing something that’s not allowed like reach for Osamu’s stupid hand and drag him out of the building at last. They are friends and nothing more. They made a deal.

As they pull away from each other Suna forces himself to maintain eye contact with Osamu. He slaps on a cheery grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. He isn’t surprised to find the same faux happy expression drawn across Osamu’s face. An unspoken agreement passes between them. 

_Don’t talk about it. Don’t point it out._

Osamu nods toward the arena door and takes off, a half step ahead of Suna. 

The phoney grin drops off Osamu’s face the moment he thinks Suna can’t see him any longer. But Suna can and he sees it all—the downward turn of his mouth (sad but unwilling to admit it even to himself), the deep lines etched across his forehead (frustration, disappointment), Osamu’s fist clenched into a ball at his side (acceptance that none of these things can change). 

Suna wants to take his hand, carefully uncurl the fingers, brush away all the tension and pain store in that clenched fist. But he can’t, not when his own vice grip is just as tight and unyielding. 

He sighs and looks to his feet but makes sure to look back up, plastic smile and all, when Osamu turns to hold the door open for him. Then two pathetic boys wearing matching plastic smiles head into the chilly night.

The first thought Osamu has as he steps through the doorway into Suna’s apartment is that it doesn’t look all that different than the first time he was here. Sure, there’s some pillows on the couch (a gift from Atsumu), a throw blanket (also from Atsumu) hangs over the back of a chair, and a knife block (from Osamu) sits next to the blender in the kitchen but overall it’s much the same. 

And yet, it feels like he’s stepping into a place completely foreign to him. Somewhere completely new. Suna’s apartment might not look different but it does _feel_ different. He idly wonders if Suna can feel it too or if it’s just Osamu. It probably is just him, afterall, Suna lives here. Osamu is just a guest and tomorrow he’ll go home, leaving Suna’s apartment _and_ Suna behind. The thought alone is enough to make him cringe. Saying goodbye isn’t exactly something he looks forward to.

At the very least, he thinks, they have tonight. Maybe this time it will be enough. Deep down he knows it won’t be. It could never be but he swallows down the lie and puts on a smile, turning on his heels to look for Suna. He whirls around to find Suna already looking at him, a small smile, soft, gentle, and painfully intimate, is tugging at his lips and it’s not fair at all that something as simple as a smile can make him feel so much. 

One smile and Osamu’s chest feels like it might burst with the strain of whatever is fluttering around in there. It’s not fair but Osamu can’t find it within himself to be angry or even put out because, in the end, no matter the effect on his own poor heart, Osamu would do anything to see that smile each and every day, would do anything to put that smile on Suna’s face.

While Suna heads to his bedroom to rummage for some movie he picked up the other day, Osamu meanders around the tiny place, stopping when he comes across a picture frame sitting on the side table next to an empty bottle of Pocari Sweat. It’s the photo Atsumu cajoled them into taking at the train station after they helped Suna move into the new place. 

Osamu is grateful that Atsumu prodded them into it. Despite Suna never being caught without a phone in hand, he’s rarely in any of the photos he snaps almost religiously. Even fewer exist with the two of them together. There’s plenty that feature them in groups, with Atsumu or the team, but it’s nice to have one that’s just the two of them.

Night stretches on but neither of them make any move to head to bed. Suna doesn’t get to see Osamu in person often and he’s not going to waste even a moment of this opportunity. It’s almost like their weekly Skype calls, an unspoken competition to see who can outlast the other, who will fall asleep at their desk first. Except this time Osamu isn’t on a fuzzy computer screen, he’s not more than an arm’s length away. Suna could just lean over and— 

He needs to stop this train of thought by any means necessary and fast. 

“So,” Suna says. “Atsumu and Sakusa Kiyoomi?” 

Osamu turns to face him and there’s a wicked grin on his face. “What about em? You mean how they’re pining over each other like they’re gettin’ paid to?”

“How’s that going? I could feel the tension from the court. Do you know how distracting that was?” 

Osamu huffs. “Imagine living with him. He never shuts up. It’s all Omi-kun this and Omi-kun that. Drives me up a wall.” Osamu shudders but Suna can see what’s underneath the act. Osamu is great at putting on a front when it comes to Atsumu. Great at playing the part of an annoyed brother but Suna knows the truth. He can read between the lines. 

Osamu is happy for his brother even if he and Sakusa are still locked in some weird dance that only they know the steps to. 

“If I’m lucky, one of them will work up the courage to ask the other out already and then maybe I’ll get a few moments of peace and quiet.”

Suna snorts. “Don’t get your hopes up.” 

Osamu throws his head back against the couch and groans. “Let a man dream. Please. It’s all I have.”

Osamu looks at him with the saddest, most pathetic pout Suna has ever seen and it has no right been anywhere near as endearing as it is. He pats Osamu on the knee. “Dream on, partner.” Osamu laughs and it’s a near impossible task, but Suna manages to tear his eyes away from Osamu. If looks for even a moment longer—at his crooked grin, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles, at the way he seems to flow when he laughs—Suna is certain he won’t ever be able to look away. The longer he looks at Osamu the more he finds to— 

Fuck. 

Suna doesn’t realize he’s leaning in until Osamu shifts to meet him halfway. 

He should say something. He should pull back. But fuck it, he doesn’t want to.

  
Suna inches closer and Osamu’s heart races. Fluttering erupts in his stomach. Filling his belly, his chest, his lungs. He reaches for Suna’s hand and twines their fingers together. 

Osamu recognizes this, the steps to the dance, this sequence of events. He knows where he and Suna are headed, and one look at Suna tells him that Suna knows it too. It’s the lead up, the moment where time stands still and there's nothing between two people but the short distance between them growing shorter still as they’re drawn together, like it’s inevitable. Like it was always going to end this way. 

It’s the happy ending of every romantic comedy. It’s the beginning of every tragic love story. Osamu knows this isn’t their happy ending and it isn’t their tragic beginning, they already had that. So what is it then? 

“Osamu,” Suna whispers. They’re close enough now that Osamu goes a little cross eyed when he tries to look Suna in the eyes. His breath ghosts across Osamu’s cheek against his mouth as he speaks. “We shouldn’t. We said— “

Osamu cuts him off. He knows what they said. He hasn’t admitted it out loud and, until now he hasn’t even admitted it to himself, but he’s thought about what they said every damn day since then. All 365 of them. A whole year’s worth of thinking and he hasn’t gotten any closer to a conclusion. Was it the right decision? Did they give up without trying? Will he ever be able to move on from his high school crush or is he going to be this pathetic for the rest of his life? Everyone else will settle into their relationships and live out their happy lives together and Osamu will be alone. Intelligently, he knows that people don’t need to be in a relationship to live happy, fulfilled lives. But most people aren’t in love with Suna Rintarou.

He looks Suna dead in the eyes. “I know,” he says without hesitation, but what he means is _I don’t care what we said. I don’t care if you don’t._ And maybe he should care but to care is to think and he’s done thinking. 

“I’m going to—”

“Okay,” Osamu says. It’s not quite a challenge. It’s not quite an invitation. It falls somewhere in between both, but it means— _yes, do it. Please_ —all the same.

Kissing wasn’t on the approved list a year ago and that hasn’t changed but when Suna’s lips finally—finally—press against his, he finds that he doesn’t really care. List or no list, approved or not, if Suna Rintarou wants to kiss him then Osamu will kiss him and kiss him again until there’s nothing left but Suna and Osamu. Osamu and Suna. 

Every thought that plagued him before—where the fuck Atsumu ran off to, whether or not they had changed in the two months Osamu saw him last, if kissing Suna is a good idea or bad—all of that flies out of his head the moment their lips meet. 

Their first kiss was in the cold night air under the cover of a sky full of stars. Their second is in Suna’s tiny apartment illuminated only by the soft blue glow of the tv, the movie long forgotten.

It’s a slow and gentle press of lips. One kiss then another. Or it was until Suna loops an arm around Osamu’s waist and uses the leverage to haul himself closer. Before their hands and lips were the only points of contact between them but now Osamu is burning up with Suna all but sitting in his lap. 

Suna cups Osamu’s face in one hand and threads the other through his hair. Osamu presses a kiss to the corner of Suna’s mouth then trails down his jaw, his neck. He presses kiss after kiss, grinning into his neck when Suna shudders against him. He leans back and is rewarded with the sight of Suna’s flushed face. 

Across the room Osamu’s phone lights up and rings. 

Osamu frowns at the offending device and says, “Atsumu.” 

Reluctantly, Suna climbs off of him and Osamu misses the feeling of Suna on top of him immediately. But he hops off the couch, snatches his phone off the table, and heads for the kitchen leaving Suna behind. 

Suna daydreams far too often but even he can’t deny that there’s something cathartic about allowing himself the luxury of imagining what ifs. What if Osamu had gone pro too? What if Suna hadn’t? What if Osamu did but Suna didn’t? If it was Osamu who had gone pro then Suna wouldn’t be tied to Hyogo as Osmau is now. If Osamu had gone pro then Suna could have followed him wherever and whenever without regret. 

It’s in these daydreams that Suna imagines a little apartment, a bedroom, a kitchen tinier than Osamu would probably like but big enough for what they need. A warm bed, warmer with Osamu next to him. A dresser that starts out organized but slowly devolves into inevitable chaos, their tee shirts and socks becoming inextricably mixed up. 

He imagines sitting on the countertop swinging his legs to and fro while Osamu cooks, slapping Suna’s hand away when he tries to sneak a bit of whatever he’s cooking for dinner. 

They made their choices a year ago and Suna stands by them. He knows that he can’t have any of these things outside of a daydream and that it is for the best. Instead he daydreams about the many different lives they could have had on the train, in line at the grocery store, while he’s brushing his teeth at night and it’s enough. 

He’s daydreamed about this too, about kissing Osamu breathless and Osamu kissing him back with the same ferocity. But no daydream could ever compare to the real thing.

Suna has been good this year. He lets himself dream during those tiny inconsequential moments of life and no other time. He’s moving on. He’s growing up. But as he watches Osamu shamble out of the room phone in hand, Suna thinks that now that he’s had a taste of the real thing, it’s going to be even more difficult to hide just how fiercely his heart beats for Osamu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!


End file.
